


On Life, On Death, On Everything In-Between

by cywscross



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Ichigo-centric, Language, Past IchiRuki, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war rages on for ten years, and by the time it ends, most are dead and Soul Society has been destroyed. But Kisuke still has one more card to play, and he gambles it all on the one person he believes in to achieve the impossible. Ichigo accepts without hesitation. There’s nothing he wouldn't do to protect his friends and family, and he doesn't have anything left to lose anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the AU future that Ichigo came back from is basically canon until all the way up to the battles between Aizen/Espada and Ichigo/Shinigami but instead of Ichigo/Kisuke defeating Aizen, the war continues for another ten years. I might throw in a little bit of Ichigo’s heritage (gotta wait for the next manga issues to come out because at this point, I haven’t the faintest clue who his parents really are). And considering Ichigo’s growth rate, an extra ten years will make him very powerful so he’ll have a new level of Bankai, as well as a sealed state for his Zanpakutou, etc. The plot that came after the seventeen-month skip in the canon doesn't apply (Ginjou, Royal Guard, etc.).  
> For those of you who have read my Naruto fic Ghost, the layout of this fic will be like that one, so this won’t be a whopping time travel saga of epic proportions and I'm hoping to complete the entire thing in less than ten chapters.

**I.**

                “I'm going out for a walk.”

 

                Isshin lowered his newspaper, pretending he hadn't already been watching his only son over the top of it ever since Ichigo had stepped into the kitchen.

 

                “Again, Ichigo?”  Isshin enquired lightly, and then burst into fake sobs.  “MASAKI!  OUR SON DOESN'T WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH HIS FAMILY!”

 

                Instead of the derisive scoff that would’ve been Ichigo’s typical response, all Isshin received was a faint smile that faded before it could fully form.  “Yeah, yeah, Goat-Face, I get it.  I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

 

                And without waiting for further fanfare, the teen disappeared out the door, silent as a ghost.

 

                With the twins upstairs doing homework, Isshin allowed his usual goofy facade to diminish as he rocked back on his heels and stared contemplatively at the empty doorway.

 

                Two weeks ago, Ichigo had come home from school, same as any other weekday, but Isshin had almost had a heart attack when he had caught a glimpse of his son’s expression.  Shadowed with hidden grief and weariness, Ichigo had swept in through the front door, made a beeline for his sisters, and given each of them a tight hug before brushing past Isshin on his way to the stairs.

 

                Isshin would swear blind until the day he died that his perpetually scowling, emotionally reticent son had tangled his fingers in Isshin’s sleeve like a child seeking comfort in the mere one and a half seconds it had taken for Ichigo to walk past him.

 

                Frankly, it had scared the shit out of him.  Something had happened, and it had affected Ichigo enough that it had changed him entirely.

 

                Because the teenager currently out on yet another stroll through the streets of Karakura, while most assuredly Ichigo, was also vastly different from the short-tempered, impulsive youth that Isshin knew.

 

                This Ichigo was harder, sharper around the edges, prone to long periods of distant silence even when the whole family was gathered at the dinner table, treated Isshin’s morning assaults as if they bored him, never even yelled at him for them anymore, and always walked around on silent footsteps.

 

                The one thing that had assured Isshin that this _was_ actually still his son was the look of undisguised affection that would restore a glimmer of life into tired brown eyes whenever Karin and Yuzu were in sight.

 

                He sighed and rose to his feet, raking a hand through his hair before trotting out of the kitchen and pausing at the bottom of the stairs.  “Karin!  Yuzu!  Daddy’s going out for a bit!  Don’t miss me too much while I’m away!”

 

                Grinning despite the situation at Yuzu’s “Okay, Tou-san!” and Karin’s “Who would miss you, Goat-Face?!”, Isshin grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

 

                Maybe this was Shinigami related.  Maybe Ichigo had seen a Hollow being killed by one of the more sword-happy Soul Reapers in the Gotei 13.  So maybe Kisuke could shed some light on his son’s behaviour.

 

                Because, strangest of all, Isshin could no longer feel the reiryoku that Ichigo normally leaked like a faucet all over the place.

 

**II.**

 

                “Interesting,” Kisuke rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “No, I’m afraid there hasn’t been anything particular in the last few weeks.  Even the Hollows have lessened, though I suppose that would be because your son’s reiryoku has suddenly been... muted?”

 

                “Pretty much,” Isshin nodded, frowning.  “I can barely feel it anymore.  And he’s just- It’s like a part of him is just _gone_.  God, Kisuke, I look at him nowadays and it’s like he’s _dead_.  Something’s happened to him.  Are you absolutely sure Grand Fisher hasn’t appeared again?  If Ichigo saw Masaki’s killer-”

 

                “I’m sure, Isshin-san,” Kisuke interrupted, hiding a pensive frown as he reached up and tugged his hat down.  He had been far more careful with monitoring the Hollows that came and went in Karakura after the incident with Isshin’s wife.  “Hollow activity is at an all-time low.  _Nothing_ has happened.”

 

                Isshin scowled, frustration all but radiating from him.  “Well something is wrong with my son.  The only thing, the _only_ thing that makes him happy these days is when he sees his sisters, and even that doesn't last very long.  Karin and Yuzu have noticed already and they’re starting to get worried.”

 

                Kisuke sighed as Isshin shifted edgily in his seat.  The other man had always lacked patience – personally, Kisuke blamed it on the Shiba genes.  Captaincy had been good for him but there was only so much tolerance that Isshin could ever gain.

 

                “Have you followed him on these walks he takes?”  He asked evenly, snapping open his fan.  “Maybe he saw a Shinigami getting rid of a Hollow and I somehow missed it, and the Shinigami decided to tell your son a few things.”

 

                Isshin shook his head dismissively.  “I’ve followed him three times.  He either walks circles around town or he goes to the river and sits on the bank until sunset.  He’s not meeting anyone.”

 

                Kisuke’s frown deepened.  Besides occasional glimpses when the teen happened to walk past his shop, he hadn't actually seen Kurosaki Ichigo since the boy had been a baby and Isshin had crashed into his home with a beaming Masaki on his right and his first child in his arms.  The man had been so damn proud, and even as Kisuke and Shinji had taken turns holding the baby, Isshin had boasted to the high heavens that Ichigo would grow up to become a great man one day.

 

                “And you're certain it’s not just teenage angst?”  Kisuke enquired cautiously.  “I hear that’s always a problem for kids Ichigo’s age.”

 

                Isshin threw him a dirty look.  “You think I’d be this worried about teenage angst?”

 

                Kisuke sighed.  “Yes, yes, alright.  But there really hasn’t been anything odd lately...”

 

                He trailed off when a thought struck him, one not of any real consequence and had been dismissed out of mind until now.

 

Isshin instantly zeroed in on it.  “What is it?”

 

“Come to think of it,” Kisuke started slowly.  “One of my Gikongan dispensers went missing a week ago.”

 

Isshin’s gaze narrowed.  “And this didn't occur to you earlier?”

 

Kisuke shrugged.  “I’ve misplaced them before, Isshin-san, and how many people do you know can sneak into my shop of all places undetected?”

 

Isshin grumbled wordlessly, grudgingly conceding the point.

 

Kisuke sighed again, snapping his fan shut.  “Just keep an eye on your boy.  He’s special enough to attract Aizen’s attention; you’ve been training him for years to prepare him.  If something’s happened to him – if he’s seen something he shouldn't have – it’ll come out sooner or later.  Probably sooner.”

 

In the end, that was all they could really do.

 

But as Kisuke waved his long-time friend out the door, his eyes drifted up to the cloudy skies overhead.

 

Isshin was prone to exaggeration at times, but when he was serious, he told things as they were.  If the man said that his son had changed drastically, then Kisuke believed him.  Now all they had to do was work out the reason for it.

 

**III.**

 

                By the time Isshin got home, his son had already returned, shoes placed neatly on the side and muffled voices filtered from the kitchen.

 

                Isshin paused just out of sight, shamelessly eavesdropping when he heard Karin’s raised voice.

 

                “-don’t know what is wrong with you these days, Ichi-nii!  Are you sick?  Even Goat-Face has noticed and you know how much of an idiot he is!”

 

                Isshin waited with baited breath for Ichigo’s reply.  He knew his son would probably never completely open up to any of them – that ship had sailed; Ichigo had closed a part of himself off ever since Masaki had died – but Karin and Yuzu both had a knack for weaseling some things out of their brother when they put their minds to it.

 

                “...There’s nothing wrong, Karin.”

 

                “That’s a lie and we all know it!”

 

                “Onii-chan, you can talk to us.  Something’s making you sad and we’re worried.  Maybe we can help.”

 

                “There’s nothing wrong.  I've just been a bit tired.  I'm sorry for worrying you.”

 

                A moment later, Ichigo had appeared in the hall, and for once, Isshin didn't attempt to tackle the teen or break out into sobs or pull any of his usual antics.  Instead, he met his son’s gaze evenly, trying to catch a glimpse of something – anything – behind those dull brown eyes that had become disturbingly familiar over the past two weeks.

 

                But Ichigo only nodded at him before climbing the stairs up to his room.  The quiet click of the bedroom door closing sounded like a gunshot in the ensuing silence.

 

                “Otou-san?”

 

                Isshin glanced back and found the twins piled in the doorway.  “Yes, Yuzu?”

 

                Yuzu’s lips quivered.  “Is Onii-chan going to be alright?”

 

                _I haven’t the faintest clue_ , Isshin thought harshly.

 

                Outwardly, he plastered on a bright grin and whispered conspiratorially, “Your brother’s growing up!  It’s a part of a teenager’s duty to become moody over the smallest things.  Don’t worry; it’s just Ichigo’s hormones finally kicking in!”

 

                He spun around and threw himself at his wife’s memorial poster.  “MASAKI!  OUR SON HAS FINALLY HIT PUBERTY!  HE’S UNDOUBTEDLY DEALING WITH _GIRL PROBLEMS_!!”

 

                Behind him, he heard Yuzu gasp in shock and Karin groan in annoyance.  “Come on, Yuzu, let’s leave the moron to his delusions.  Are we having curry tonight?”

 

                “Oh yes!  I thought I’d cook one of Onii-chan’s favourites.  It might cheer him up.”

 

                “Good idea.  I’ll lend you a hand.  Curry’s about the only thing I can make.”

 

                Isshin waited until his daughters had returned to the kitchen before flopping onto his back.

 

                “I don’t know what to do, Masaki,” Isshin murmured softly.  “Our son’s changed, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be the same again.”

 

**IV.**

 

                Blink.

 

                The ceiling was still there, solid and white.  No brown cloth, no reiatsu-enforced tent, no nightly howling winds of Hueco Mundo, so bitterly cold that even Toshirou had had to hunt down more blankets for himself.

 

                When he had still been alive anyway.

 

                Blink.

 

                His room was still around him.  No blood, no agonized screams, no Hollows after his head.

 

                He was okay.

 

                Ichigo breathed in deeply before exhaling again.  He was okay.  He was back, all the way back at the very beginning, and nothing bad had happened yet.

 

                He was okay.

 

**_“Aibou, you’re repeatin’ yourself.”_**

 

_Shut up_ , Ichigo thought silently.  Most of what he did was silent these days.

 

                A snort echoed in his mind but at least Shiro managed to refrain from saying anything else.  Instead, a soothing hum of reiatsu washed over him as his two Zanpakutou stepped in.

 

                Ichigo sent back a thrum of quiet gratitude before his gaze shifted to his window.  Rukia would be coming tonight.

 

                He stamped down hard on the wave of near-suffocating anguish at the thought of the raven-haired Shinigami he had befriended all those years ago.

 

                If only he had been just a little faster, a little stronger, then maybe Rukia wouldn't have died, wouldn't have bled out in his arms as he had hunched over her limp form amidst the rubble that Soul Society had been reduced to.

 

                It wouldn't happen this time though, he swore fervently.  That was why he was here, why he had allowed Kisuke to sacrifice himself to send him back in time.

 

                To save everyone.

 

                And if saving everyone also meant sacrificing all the bonds he had created over the course of the war, if that meant Renji and Uryuu and Shinji and Byakuya and dozens of others would never really know him...

 

If that meant giving up Rukia’s love, then so be it.

 

                Better alive and happy than dead in a world ruled by a madman.  There was no point in moping about things he couldn’t change.

 

                _“You could try,”_ The smooth voice of his second Zanpakutou interrupted.  _“Kuchiki Rukia is still Kuchiki Rukia.”_

 

                _But she’s not my Rukia_ , Ichigo shot back, closing his eyes.  _She doesn't know me.  And besides, what kind of idiot would want to deal with all of my baggage?_

 

                _“You are, as you have always been, too hard on yourself,”_ Came the sombre reply.  _“You deserve to be happy, Ichigo.”_

 

                _Yeah, well, I’ll be ecstatic when Aizen’s dead and gone,_ Ichigo retorted, rolling onto his side.

 

                **_“Now you’re talkin’, Aibou,”_** Shiro cut in gleefully.  **_“You can court the Kuchiki woman after we kick Aizen’s ass.”_**

 

                Ichigo mustered up enough energy to snort derisively.  Most of the time, fighting was the only thing his Hollow had on his mind.  While he cared about Rukia, mostly for Ichigo’s sake, Shiro just couldn't seem to understand that it really wasn't as easy as he made it sound.  Rukia would never be the same to him anymore, just as Ichigo would never be the same teenager he had been when they had first met.  He had lost the only person he had ever loved when she had been killed by Aizen’s hand.

 

                _‘Ichigo,’_ Zangetsu’s voice resounded in his mind.  Unlike the others, the oldest of his spiritual companions made no specific comment on Rukia.  Zangetsu had always known him best.  _‘She is coming.’_

 

                Ichigo didn't open his eyes or move from his bed.  _Aa.  She should be able to sense Fishbone D this time though.  I’ve suppressed almost all my reiatsu._

 

                _‘And you are certain of this course of action?’_

 

                _Well, I can’t exactly take her powers a second time.  It probably wouldn't mix well with mine anyway.  Who knows what would happen?_   Ichigo paused.  _Unless you have any objections about this plan?_

 

                _‘No,’_ Zangetsu answered placidly.  _‘It will serve to throw Aizen off.  The Hogyoku must not be sealed inside Rukia again.  If she unknowingly brings it back to Seireitei, Aizen will obtain it once more.’_

 

                Ichigo mentally nodded.  That had been the main problem during the war.  The Hollows that Aizen had been able to make with the Hogyoku – some that wouldn't die no matter how you sliced them up, others that could poison your _Zanpakutou_ with one touch – had been truly terrifying.

 

                A rustle drew his attention to the window, and he watched as a black butterfly fluttered in, followed soon after by the familiar figure of a slightly younger-looking and far less jaded Kuchiki Rukia.

 

                Ichigo’s jaw tightened as pain lanced through his heart.  He stayed silent though as his once-friend and lover murmured under her breath and parked herself by his window, peering out of it into the night.

 

                With his own reiryoku restrained, Ichigo knew that they could both sense the sizeable reiatsu of Fishbone D coming up the street.

 

                And this time, as Rukia readied her Zanpakutou, Ichigo remained quiet, only rising to his feet, flicking the light switch, and making his way to the window after she had launched herself back outside, ambushing the gigantic Hollow with focused precision.

 

                She held her own quite nicely, Ichigo had to admit.  He had been a real distraction the first time around, but now that Rukia didn't have an inexperienced Human bumbling around, she could fully concentrate on the task at hand.

 

                Casually, he scanned his surroundings, absently noting the muted reiatsu signature on one of the nearby rooftops.  Urahara Kisuke had become one of his closest friends over the course of the war but that didn't change the fact that the ex-captain could be a manipulative son-of-a-bitch, especially at the beginning of their acquaintance.  Ichigo would like to think that he had... _cured_ the shopkeeper of that particular habit to some degree after a few years in each other’s company.

 

                Another surreptitious glance around pinpointed the camera fly hovering in a shadowy alcove, recording both the fight below and Ichigo’s profile.

 

He inwardly snorted.  Aizen was one nosy stalker.

 

                His attention was drawn back to the fight below when Rukia released a startled yelp as she was sent flying by a backhand courtesy of Fishbone.  Involuntarily, Ichigo jolted forward a step, his frown deepening as he silently urged Rukia back onto her feet.

 

                She did, stumbling a little before dodging another blow and leaping forward to cut into the Hollow’s mask.  Fishbone howled, reeling back in pain and swiftly retreating into Hueco Mundo for a few seconds to recover, giving Rukia time to do the same.

 

                Moments later, the Hollow burst back into the Living World, angrier than ever as it charged blindly at Rukia.  The black-haired Shinigami ducked again before carving a deep gash in the Hollow’s arm, only to get sideswiped when Fishbone’s other arm lashed out and caught her in the middle.

 

                **_“Aibou, your woman’s gonna die if this keeps up much longer,”_ ** Shiro warned flippantly.

 

                _She’s not my woman,_ Ichigo rebuffed irritably, but snapped out a tiny bolt of reiatsu at the camera fly, instantly short-circuiting the thing.

 

                He darted an assessing look in Kisuke’s direction.  He couldn't sense any surprise from the shopkeeper so he knew the man hadn't seen what he had done.

 

                As Rukia struggled to her feet once again and Fishbone advanced on her, Ichigo retreated into the darkness of his room and swallowed a Gikongan, stepping out of his body with ease and instantly feeling somewhat lighter.  Sometimes, it was downright stifling staying in his human body – ironic since he _was_ Human.

 

                Sort of.

 

                “Stay put,” He ordered the mod soul, and after receiving a nod, he shunpoed out the window, making sure to stay out of Kisuke’s line of sight.

 

                He didn't bother drawing even one of the blades settled comfortably against his back, the katana at a diagonal angle with the hilt positioned above his right shoulder and the wakizashi just above his waist at a horizontal with the hilt on his left.  Releasing either of his Zanpakutou would be wasted on a weak Hollow like this one.

 

                His first Zanpakutou was the stronger of the two of course, especially seeing how their Bankai had _become_ their Shikai when the simple initial release proved to be largely useless against the Hollows Aizen had sent out en masse.  To his friends’ general dumbfounded astonishment and exasperation, Ichigo had countered this by manifesting a second Bankai on top of his first.  Tensa Zangetsu now remained in his younger form, though still as stoic and serene as ever.

 

                He shifted, absently fingering the black scarf around his neck as he waited for an opening.  His Shinigami clothing had changed in style over the years but it was still black on the outside with a white trim on the inside.  His Shihakushou opened slightly at the chest, remained ragged at the bottom, and extended all the way to his ankles, but the wide sleeves only stretched a few inches below his elbows while his forearms and hands were protected by arm guards and fingerless gloves.  Two dark red sashes, one over his shoulder and the other around his waist, secured his two swords to his person.

 

                His hair was somewhat shaggier as well.  At mid-neck length, his bangs were also long enough and messy enough to naturally shadow his right eye.  After yet another battle against Aizen in the wastelands of Hueco Mundo, Ichigo had been unfortunate enough to take a crippling strike to his right eye, mangling it and destroying half his eyesight before Unohana could get to him.  A faint, jagged scar now ran from his right eyebrow to his cheekbone and over his eyelid.  The pupil was gone and the iris was now an unfocused blue after it had been poisoned by whatever substance had coated the blade that Aizen had used at the time.  As it was, his eye still ached from time to time, and the only upside to it was that it tended to unnerve people when he glared directly at them.

 

                The injury didn't affect his human body though, nor did any of his scars show, but it didn't change the fact that he could only see out of one eye now.  The wound had been a bitch to deal with at first, and Ichigo had lost his temper more than once whenever he had turned and ended up crashing into a wall because his depth perception had been thrown off, or nearly getting skewered whenever an enemy came at him from his right side.  That, more than anything else, had pushed him into learning how to sense reiatsu signatures, especially after Renji and Ikkaku had laughed their asses off when they had caught Ichigo walking headlong into a doorframe.

 

                He ignored the nostalgia that came with the thought of the two lieutenants and forced his mind to stay in the present.  He winced when Rukia was once again tossed off her feet, slamming against the wall with a sickening thud and a pained cry.

 

                He spared one last second to look over in Kisuke’s direction again.  There was no way the shopkeeper wouldn't see him, and the man would undoubtedly dredge up a crapload of questions about Ichigo as soon as he caught a glimpse of him, but Ichigo had pondered this problem several times already and knew that there was no plausible way he could completely hide who he was from everyone.  If nothing else, anybody who slapped eyes on him in his Shinigami form would wonder why he looked eleven years older than he supposedly was.

 

                However, Ichigo was very good at evading difficult questions (or ignoring them anyway), and it wasn't in Kisuke’s nature to take the direct route when interrogating someone.  Ichigo could buy himself more than enough time.

 

                So, just as Fishbone lunged for the fallen Shinigami, mouth opened and teeth bared, Ichigo dashed forward, whirling around the Hollow’s large limbs and scooping Rukia’s petite form into his arms before shunpoing a safe distance away.

 

                He could almost taste Kisuke’s shock.  It almost made him smile.

 

                “Who-?!”  Rukia began, voice laced with alarm and pain even as she craned her neck around to peer up at him.  Calmly, Ichigo knocked her out before she could get a good look.  He was above most of the captains in terms of strength and equalled all the rest but that didn't mean he wanted the entire Gotei 13 descending on his head.

 

                Carefully, he lowered Rukia to the ground, setting her and her Zanpakutou against a wall before glancing back over his shoulder.  The Hollow roared, enraged that its prey had gotten away, and was now in the process of charging at Ichigo, hands outstretched and a hungry gleam in its eyes.

 

                Bad choice.

 

                Ichigo disappeared from sight, a single step forward flashing him across the street even as he drew Zangetsu.  Without hesitation, he pierced the bone mask and severed it in half, shredding his way straight through the Hollow in the span of a heartbeat.

 

                Ichigo had Zangetsu sheathed once more before he had even landed behind the Hollow, and as he straightened and turned, Fishbone dispersed, its shrieks dying away as its soul was purified.

 

                **_“...That was so borin’ I almost fell asleep,”_ ** Shiro remarked in the following silence that filled the dark street.

 

                Ichigo rolled his eyes as he padded back towards Rukia, stooping down to pick her up again.  _Better boring than those skin-eating Hollows._

 

                **_“Those weren’t Hollows,”_** Shiro grumbled.  **_“Those were Aizen’s trash.  Things shouldn't’ve existed in the first place.”_**

Ichigo hummed an agreement as he shunpoed back up to his window, Rukia cradled safely in his arms.  He paused for a moment, perched on the sill, and glanced back over his shoulder, staring straight at the spot Kisuke had hidden himself in.

 

                The shopkeeper’s reiatsu signature lingered for a moment longer before it disappeared, becoming abruptly fainter as Kisuke headed home.

 

                Ichigo allowed a small smile to tilt one corner of his mouth before he stepped back into his room.  This would keep Kisuke occupied for a while.

 

                Gently, he placed the unconscious Shinigami on his bed and reached into one of his drawers for the first-aid kit.  He’d bandage her injuries and give her a place to sleep for the night before seeing her off tomorrow.

 

                Wouldn't Aizen be surprised that Rukia, while somewhat drained, was still in full possession of her powers?

 

**V.**

 

                Well, wasn't this interesting.

 

                Kisuke stared idly at the cup of tea – cold now – in front of him, running over the earlier events once more.

 

                Kurosaki Ichigo was a Shinigami, seemingly without any outside assistance, knew Shunpo, had sensed Kisuke, and had taken down a sixteen-foot Hollow without batting an eye.  Kisuke was fairly certain that the boy’s Zanpakutou hadn't even been released.

 

                And that was another thing.  From what he had seen, Ichigo appeared to have two swords, the longer one with a dark red scabbard and black handle and the shorter one with a blood red sheath and a dark purple hilt-wrapping, so the teen either had a daishou pair – and Kisuke only knew two other people who possessed double-sword Zanpakutou, only one of whom had two blades in its sealed state – or, incredibly enough, Ichigo simply had two Zanpakutou.

 

                Why not?  It seemed like a night for impossibilities.

 

                He took a gulp of tea and grimaced.  It was no secret that he was god-awful at making tea, or anything kitchen-related really, which was why Tessai usually made the meals, but his long-time friend was asleep at the moment.

 

                With a sigh, Kisuke rose to his feet and headed for the sink to pour the tea away.  He wondered how Isshin was going to take this news.  Undoubtedly, the man had sensed the Hollow, but Kisuke had warned him to stay inside since he couldn't do anything anyway, and the Hollow had been something of a test for Ichigo, to see if the boy had the potential to become a Shinigami.

 

                After tonight, potential wasn't even a question.  Kurosaki Ichigo had skill to spare.  He had even found Kisuke hiding in the shadows without difficulty.

 

                The gaze that the teen had levelled at him had been unnerving at best too, even from the single eye Kisuke had glimpsed.  He finally understood what Isshin had been trying to explain to him.  Even in those few seconds that they had stared at each other, neither getting a particularly clear look but picking up on one another’s reiatsu anyway, Kisuke had sensed nothing but overwhelming sorrow from the young man.

 

                It had been enough to make him look away and leave.  A fifteen-year-old boy – who looked quite a bit older than fifteen, come to think of it – should not feel like that.

 

                There was also the problem of Kuchiki Rukia.  Since Ichigo hadn't needed her powers to defeat the Hollow, had saved her before her reiatsu had even become entirely depleted, the girl would have no need for a gigai to recover in, which meant that the Hogyoku...

 

                Kisuke closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, automatically reaching up for the brim of his hat.  It was wrong, he knew, to seal the artefact he had created into an innocent person, but he hadn't been able to destroy it and time was running out.  Aizen would make his move soon – heck, he probably had already, what with the puzzling transfer of the Kuchiki girl to Karakura – and Kisuke had to seal the Hogyoku away before someone came looking for it.

 

                Kuchiki Rukia would be in Karakura for a month though so Kisuke could still pull this off.  Never let it be said that he didn't have backup plans.

 

                And in the meantime, he’d have to figure out just how Isshin’s son had tapped into his powers, and who he had learned it from.

 

**VI.**

 

                The first thing Rukia noticed when she woke up was the soothing scent of green tea in the air.  The second was the fact that she wasn't in the Kuchiki Compound or the Thirteenth Division barracks.

 

                She shot up into a sitting position, and then faltered when the room momentarily spun around her, leaving her clutching at the blankets tucked around her.

 

                “I hope you don’t always wake up like that,” A male voice commented from beside her.

 

                Rukia instantly stiffened, instinctively reaching for her sword at her waist but not finding it, and then turned sharply to face the other person in the room.  “Who are you?!”

 

                Narrowed brown eyes met hers as she took in the shock of orange hair and distinctly human clothes that the stranger was wearing.

 

                This person was _Human_.

 

                “You... can see me?”  Rukia asked warily, though in hindsight, that was a rather stupid question since she _was_ talking to him and it looked like he had lent his bed to her as well.  He must have quite a high amount of reiryoku.

 

                 The teenager shrugged lazily, propping an elbow on the desk beside him.  “I take it I'm not supposed to be able to?  Or that monster from last night?”

 

                This brought the Hollow she had been fighting rushing back to the forefront of her thoughts.

 

                “What- What happened to it?!”  Rukia demanded frantically, trying to recall what had happened after she had- passed out?  “Is it gone?  Did it hurt anyone?”

 

                She looked back at the Human just in time to catch a shadow of puzzling fondness flicker briefly at the edges of his mouth before it disappeared again.

 

                This boy was very composed for a Human, Rukia noted, studying the blank gaze that stared back at her and the heavy scowl that creased his brow.

 

                “It disappeared,” The Human told her.  “And no, it didn't hurt anyone.”

 

                Rukia blinked, bewildered.  “Hollows don’t just disappear!”

 

                “Well you were the one hacking away at it with your sword,” The Human jabbed a finger over his shoulder at the closet door behind him and Rukia was relieved to spot Sode no Shirayuki leaning against it, no worse for wear.

 

                She threw the blankets off and scrambled out of bed.  The Human rose in her eyes when he wordlessly scooted out of the way and made no attempt to stop her from reaching her sword.

 

                A warm hum of acknowledgement threaded through her soul as her hand closed around the sword’s hilt and she breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to the Human.

 

                “Thank you,” She started stiffly, glancing down at the neatly-wrapped bandages around her left arm.  “It seems I took some damage from the battle.”

 

                She paused and wracked her mind.  “...There was someone else there.  I was not the one who finished off the Hollow.  Did you see who they were?”

 

                The Human, infuriatingly enough, shrugged again.  “Who knows.”

 

                Rukia twitched and she tightened her grip on Sode no Shirayuki.  “What do you mean ‘who knows’?  You were watching!”

 

                The Human didn't seem at all disconcerted.  “I was busy dragging your ass inside after you collapsed.  Now if you're finished, don’t you have stuff to do?  More of those Hollows to take down?  Or someone to report to?  Unless you work alone.”

 

                Rukia scowled as the teenager turned away dismissively.  This Human was very irritating.  “Aren’t you at all curious about what a Hollow is?  Or what I am?”

 

                “Not really,” The Human tilted his head and threw a slightly mocking look over his shoulder.  “Though I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

 

                Rukia almost growled before brushing past the teen and leaping onto the window ledge.  “I am _not_ going to tell you.  Good day, _Human_!”

 

                Without looking back, she shunpoed out the window, only stopping when she had gotten a fair distance away.

 

                She paused, and then huffed.  She had ended up leaving without finding out who had taken out the Hollow last night.

 

                There was no way she was going back though.  It was bad enough that the Human had seen her.  She supposed it was a good thing that he hadn't seemed like the curious type.

 

**VII.**

 

                “And you’re absolutely sure it was Ichigo?”  Isshin pressed, knuckles white as he clasped his hands together.

 

                Kisuke gave him a dry look.  “Unless you have another son you haven’t told me about, yes, I’m quite sure.”

 

                Isshin closed his eyes for a moment and released a gusty sigh.  “Well, he definitely didn't learn it from me.”

 

                Kisuke eyed him carefully from beneath his hat before mentioning casually, “His Shinigami form looked at least a decade older than his Human self, Isshin-san.”

 

                Isshin jerked, body becoming rigid with confused disbelief.  “What?  His soul’s older than his body?  How is that possible?”

 

                The shopkeeper shook his head.  “I don’t know.  What I do know is that Kurosaki-san fights like he’s been doing it his entire life.  He’s not just good, he has experience.  That Hollow had a sizeable amount of reiryoku, enough that an unseated officer of the Gotei 13 couldn't fully handle it alone, yet your son dispatched it with the ease that a captain would have shown.  He didn't even release his Zanpakutou.”

 

                Isshin raised a hand and kneaded his forehead.  This was ridiculous.  Ichigo had been a normal teenager – albeit one who could see souls – mere weeks ago.  “Is it possible that he simply didn't know his Shikai command?”

 

                Kisuke shrugged.  “Possible, but unlikely.  Kurosaki-san knew what he was doing, Isshin-san.  Shikai would have been overkill.”

 

                Isshin scrubbed a hand through his hair.  “Alright, ignoring the fact that Ichigo is apparently a skilled Shinigami, what else did you notice about him?  Did he seem... off to you?  Personality-wise?”

 

                Kisuke absently tapped his fan against his chin, an uncharacteristically troubled frown marring his features.  “...He turned towards me just before he returned to his room with Kuchiki-san.  You were right – he does look dead.  Felt tired too, and it had nothing to do with the Hollow.  Honestly?  To me, he looked like he’d been through hell.”

 

                A chill ran down Isshin’s spine and he had to busy himself with gulping down a cup of sake to steady his nerves and not show just how rattled he was.

 

                They sat in silence for a long while after, each lost in his own thoughts.  It was Isshin who spoke up again first.

 

                “Well, I suppose I should head home,” He sighed.  “I’ll keep an eye on Ichigo.  Just... keep me updated, okay?  If he decides to... to come here for Shinigami information or something, I’d like to know.”

 

                Kisuke tipped his hat in concurrence.  “You should probably tell him soon though.  About you.  Maybe about your wife as well.  He’s going to find out eventually.”

 

                Isshin grimaced as he clambered to his feet.  “It’s... not the right time yet.  I’ll tell him soon.”

 

                He scowled when Kisuke only tilted his hat further down to hide his eyes and snapped his fan open to shield his expression.

 

                “Suit yourself,” The shopkeeper said mildly as he led the way back outside.

 

                Isshin pretended not to hear the tinge of disapproval that he wouldn't have picked up at all if he didn't know Kisuke as well as he did and glanced around instead.  “Where’s Yoruichi-san anyway?  I haven’t seen her around lately.”

 

                Kisuke waved a dismissive hand in the air.  “You know how she is.  Yoruichi-san goes wherever she wants when she wants.  The nature of a cat.”

 

                Isshin rolled his eyes.  “Of course, never mind the fact that she isn’t really a cat.”

 

                The shopkeeper only threw his typical carefree grin over his shoulder as he slid open the front door.  “Some days, I'm convinced she’s more feline than anything else.  Now go home; a customer will be coming by in fifteen minutes.”

 

                Isshin shook his head.  “The old man is something else.  He goes and exiles you, pretends he doesn't know but lets you set up shop here, and then continues sending his Shinigami to Karakura as if this was some sort of pit stop.”

 

                Kisuke chuckled, though the sound held little humour.  “This _is_ a pit stop.  And the Captain-Commander isn’t one to ignore any resources he can get his hands on.  It would be foolish to do so.”

 

                Isshin grunted noncommittally but didn't bring it up again.  He knew that the exile was still a sore point for Kisuke even after all these years, and not just for the shopkeeper either.  Shinji and the other Visored still held grudges the size of Soul Society.

 

                “A customer?”  Isshin recalled instead.  “Kuchiki Rukia?”

 

                Kisuke inclined his head.  “Yes, she’s stationed in Karakura for the next month and will need a place to stay.”

 

                A sly smile accompanied by a wave of his fan.  “And as payment, I’m sure she’ll agree to use the wonderful gigai I recently designed.  It’s already fitted into a maid outfit-”

 

                Isshin heaved a sigh and tuned his friend out.  Of the two of them, Kisuke was the incurable pervert.  A harmless pervert, but a pervert nonetheless.

 

                “See ya later, Kisuke,” Isshin interrupted the man’s spiel and headed out, almost regretting it when, without Kisuke as a distraction, his thoughts immediately returned to his son.

 

                He highly doubted confronting Ichigo would do any good.  The two of them had never really sat down and talked, not even after Masaki’s death.  Isshin had been occupied with the twins at first, and then Ichigo, being both a boy and someone who kept to himself far more than Karin and Yuzu at that point, had seemed like he was handling it fine so Isshin hadn't dragged the boy into a heart-to-heart chat like he had with the girls.  It would’ve embarrassed them both, not to mention Masaki had always been better at getting through to Ichigo.

 

                But he wondered – even if he had talked to his son, made certain that Ichigo was alright, whether or not the teen he saw now would still come to him about whatever it was that was bothering him, about Shinigami and Hollows and Zanpakutou.

 

                It didn't seem likely.

 

**VIII.**

 

                “And you're back here because...?”  Ichigo kept his expression bland as he watched the Shinigami balanced on his windowsill fume petulantly.

 

                “I need a place to stay,” Rukia grounded out, looking like every word cost her.

 

                Ichigo could see Kisuke’s devious grin in his mind’s eye.  He mentally added his own hands closing around the man’s throat and felt moderately better.  “And you can’t go stay in that Shinigami shop you mentioned because...?”

 

                Rukia glowered.  “Because the man who runs it and offered to let me stay is a pervert.  I am not staying there!”

 

                Ichigo fought off the oncoming headache.  He barely slept nowadays (fitful dozing was a more appropriate wording), he had a potential war to prevent, and now, on top of everything else, he had Rukia to deal with, still so innocent and unburdened compared to the Rukia he had fought a war with that it made his heart hurt.

 

                “And what exactly makes you think I'm going to let a complete stranger sleep in my room?”  Ichigo asked just to stall for time because he already knew he was going to capitulate.

 

                Rukia gained that stubborn look Ichigo was more than familiar with.  “You have already done so once.”

 

                She hopped into his room to stand in front of him, a determined glint in her eyes.  “I am Kuchiki Rukia, an unseated Shinigami officer of the Thirteenth Division in the Gotei 13 in Seireitei.  You are?”

 

                Ichigo crossed his arms and surveyed her impassively.  “...Kurosaki Ichigo, born and bred in Karakura Town.”

 

                Rukia nodded, satisfied.  “Good, now we are no longer strangers.”

 

                Ichigo snorted and leaned back against his desk.  “There’s still the tiny problem of you being a Shinigami and me not able to explain why my sister’s going to have to cook for one more.”

 

                Rukia smirked.  “You can leave that to me.  I have a gigai ready.”

 

                Ichigo’s eyes flickered to the window in the direction of Kisuke’s shop.  “...Gigai?”

 

                Rukia hopped out the window again before coming back with her double slung over one shoulder.  “This is a gigai.  It is an artificial body which allows Shinigami to remain in the Human World and interact with Humans.  My... contact lent it to me.”

 

                Ichigo’s eyes narrowed on the gigai and the tingling feeling that brushed against his reiatsu.  He knew the Hogyoku well enough by now to identify it a mile away.  Damn Kisuke; he should’ve known that it would take more than an averted attempt at power exchange to deter the man.

 

                At this rate, he’d actually have to confront Kisuke about this, though on the flip side, if Rukia really did end up bringing the Hogyoku back to Seireitei, she’d still draw Aizen out and Ichigo could kill the bastard before he did her any harm.

 

                _‘Risky,’_ Zangetsu cautioned.  _‘Once the Hogyoku is brought to Soul Society, we will be in Aizen’s playing field.  There will be the Gotei 13 to contend with as well.’_

 

                Outwardly, he only sighed.  “Fine, but you sleep in the closet, and you clear it with the rest of my family.”

 

                Rukia beamed at him and Ichigo had to force himself not to look away.

 

                “I will,” Rukia promised before bounding over to the closet and peering inside.  “This will be suitable; I accept.  When will your family be back?”

 

                “My sisters are out with friends and won’t be back ’til five,” Ichigo glanced at his clock.  “And my dad is in the clinic.  He’ll finish by six-thirty.”

 

                “Good,” Rukia moved back towards his bed and sat down, crossing her legs and scanning Ichigo critically.  “I’ll have time to educate you.”

 

                Ichigo squinted at her.  “Educate-?  What, you mean about Shinigami and Seireitei and those monsters from yesterday?”

 

                Rukia nodded solemnly.  “I am here to do a job and it would only be polite to inform you of the circumstances.  Now,”

 

                She whipped out a sketchbook and a pencil, and Ichigo was hard-pressed not to groan.  Rukia and art did not get along.

 

                “We’ll start with Shinigami,” Rukia began earnestly, and Ichigo smothered another sigh and settled down for the lecture.  At least he’d have someone to point at if he was questioned about his knowledge on Shinigami.

 

**IX.**

 

                “Do you have to wear that thing all the time?”  Ichigo asked offhandedly without looking up from the book he was reading as Rukia slipped back inside from her latest run-in with a Hollow and stepped into her gigai.

 

                Rukia cast him a curious look but didn't pursue the question.  “It is more convenient to move around Humans if I am in a gigai.”

 

                “Only me here, and I can see you either way,” Ichigo pointed out.

 

                “But your family could come in anytime,” Rukia argued as she climbed into her temporary bed.

 

                The Human hummed and said nothing more, rolling onto his other side with his back to the closet when Rukia pulled out her pajamas to change.

 

Rukia was small but not small enough to change inside the closet.  Over the past week, she had quickly come to realize that Ichigo was the exact opposite of a pervert and always gave her privacy if it looked like she wanted it, including turning his back that first day she had woken up in the morning and, still half-asleep, had forgotten where she was and had proceeded to tug off her top.

 

It would’ve been far more embarrassing than it had been if the strange Human she was now living with hadn't been so nonchalant about it, simply averting his gaze and slipping out of the room before she had fully realized what was going on.  He had even been decent enough not to bring it up later.

 

She didn't particularly like wandering into the other parts of the house to get to the bathroom either because she felt just a bit like an outsider with the rest of the Kurosaki household whenever she had meals with them or bumped into them in the hallway.  With Ichigo, she almost felt as if she was back in Soul Society and spending time with other Shinigami.

 

And as strange as he was, something about Ichigo just put her at ease.

 

“Done?”  The Human called out.

 

“Yes,” Rukia ran her fingers through her hair before lying down on her bed, staring absently up at the underside of the top shelf above her.  She heard him roll over again and a comfortable silence filled the room.

 

When she was certain he was immersed in whatever book he was reading, she snuck a surreptitious glance in his direction.

 

At first, she had thought that the restful air between them was due to the fact that... well, due to the fact that Kurosaki Ichigo looked astoundingly like her former mentor and lieutenant.

 

But after a week, Rukia had realized that while Shiba Kaien was open and loud and almost always grinning good-naturedly at everyone, Ichigo was distant and only sometimes-loud (when he hollered back at her after she needled him enough; it was surprisingly fun to get a rise out of the Human) and rarely ever smiled.  Their similarities ended with their looks.

 

So it wasn't that, and a part of her was relieved because thinking of Kaien always brought back guilt as well, so she was glad that Ichigo didn't remind her of the lieutenant twenty-four/seven.

 

“Ichigo,” Rukia spoke up.

 

“Hm?”

 

Rukia shifted onto her left side to peer out at Ichigo.  “When are you going to tell me who it was that got rid of the Hollow that night?”

 

She always tried to pop the question on him at random times, hoping to trick something out of him, but she hadn't had any luck so far, and this time was no different.

 

“Wasn’t it you?”  Came the disinterested response.

 

Rukia scowled and yanked up her blankets.  Annoying Human.

 

“Going to sleep?”

 

Rukia considered it.  She did feel a bit tired after taking down two Hollows today.  “Yes.”

 

A rustle sounded and then the darkness descended on the room with only the moonlight outside bathing everything in a soft pale white.

 

She was almost asleep when Ichigo’s voice sounded.  “Rukia?”

 

Rukia stirred, blinking drowsily at the shadowed form on the bed through the crack of the closet door.  “Mm?”

 

“...Nothing.  Goodnight.”

 

Rukia closed her eyes, already drifting off again.  “’Night, Ichigo.”

 

Like she said – strange Human.

 

**X.**

 

                Rukia woke up to a choked off scream.  She was out of bed in the blink of an eye, right hand blindly grasping for her sword even as she tumbled out of the closet and leapt out of her gigai.  “Ichigo!  What’s wro-”

 

                She stopped when her eyesight adjusted to the pre-dawn light and she caught sight of the hunched shoulders shaking underneath the tangle of blankets.  She froze, all at once uncertain as to what she was supposed to do now.

 

                Hollows she could handle.  Humans waking up from nightmares was something else altogether.

 

                “I- chigo?”  Rukia approached the trembling form tentatively, putting down her sword again.  “Are you alri-?”

 

                She halted again, this time for an entirely different reason.

 

                She had already known that Ichigo had an unnaturally high level of reiryoku – the Human wouldn't be able to see her or the Hollows otherwise – but so far, it had only been a buzz at the edge of her senses, there but easily ignored in favour of the Hollows wandering into Karakura.

 

                Until now.  Whatever nightmare had woken Ichigo up had affected him badly enough that his reiatsu now seeped from him in waves, almost clogging the room as it filled the air.

 

                Rukia swore in her head.  If the boy kept this up, Hollows would be lining up down the street waiting to feast on him.

 

                “Ichigo!”  She reached out and shook one of the Human’s shoulders.  It almost felt like she was wading through water, and yet, weirdly enough, it didn't suffocate her, only enveloping her as she moved forward.

 

                “Ichigo, wake up!”  She called again, wondering if maybe his father or sisters would have a better chance at calming him down.  “Ichigo, you need to wake up!”

 

                But just as she was about to hurry out and bang on Ichigo’s father’s door, the teen woke with a gasp and the reiatsu clogging the room disappeared within the space of a second, reigned in again as if it had never been there in the first place.

 

                Rukia gaped soundlessly for a second before shaking herself out of it and hurrying forward to hover anxiously beside Ichigo who was pushing himself into a sitting position, hair matted with sweat and eyes wild with a frighteningly endless despair that made Rukia shudder.

 

                “Ichigo?”  She sat down gingerly next to him.  “Are you alright?”

 

                Ragged breaths answered her but a jerky nod several seconds later told her that she had been heard.

 

                “Should- Should I get your father?”  Rukia stammered out hesitantly.  She was so out of her depth it wasn't funny.  Human teenagers shouldn't look like- like _this_ , should they?  What kind of nightmares would cause a reaction this big?

 

                “No,” Ichigo rasped out, voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming for a long time.  “I’m fine.  Thanks for waking me.”

 

                Rukia remained by his side, examining the Human’s tense frame and the way one of his hands was clutching at his throat.

 

                Her mind flashed back to that first night.

 

                “Ichigo, did you get hit by that Hollow?”  Rukia demanded, reaching for the Human’s hand.  Ichigo flinched away.  “With your high reiryoku, you probably would have healed pretty fast if it wasn't serious, but you should have told me!  Let me see!”

 

                Ichigo sucked in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it in a whoosh before lowering his hand to show unmarred skin.  “I’m fine, Rukia, I wasn't hurt.  Don’t worry.”

 

                Rukia glared at him suspiciously.  “Well you’re the one who woke me.  I wouldn't call that fine!”

 

                This earned her a faint, lopsided smile that only served to make her even more worried.

 

                “I’m fine,” Ichigo repeated, getting to his feet.  “I’m sorry I woke you; go back to bed.  I’m just going to go down for a glass of water.”

 

                And before Rukia could protest, the Human had slipped out of the room, never looking back.

 

                She crossed her arms and scowled before reluctantly heading back to bed, pausing only to slip into her gigai again.  It wasn't as if they were friends or anything, for all that they shared a room and the teen was her only source of real conversation these days.  It wasn't her place to butt in.

 

                She sighed and crawled back into the closet, snuggling into her blankets once more.

 

                She wasn't surprised when Ichigo never returned, even when she fell asleep half an hour later.

 

**XI.**

 

                _“Are you alright, Ichigo?”_

 

                Ichigo kept his eyes closed and his head buried in his hands as he sat on the front doorstep.  _Yeah, I'm fine.  Almost fine anyway._

 

                **_“Sorry, Aibou,”_** And Ichigo knew his inner world was raining buckets without looking if even Shiro was sorry.  **_“We blocked off as much of the nightmares as we could but your memories are fuckin’ strong.”_**

 

                _It’s fine, don’t worry about it_.  One hand involuntarily drifted to his throat.  He could still feel the serrated blade, the gush of blood, the way he hadn't been able to _breathe_ -

 

                _‘Ichigo,’_ Zangetsu’s reassuring tenor resounded in his mind.  _‘Stop thinking about it.  Returning to that memory will only stress you further.  It is behind you.  Aizen will never imprison you again.  I swore this on our soul the day you were rescued.’_

 

                _“‘We’, Zangetsu,”_ Ichigo’s second Zanpakutou cut in silkily.  _“All three of us swore.”_

 

                Shiro said nothing for once but a fierce blast of vicious malice stemming from the mere thought of Aizen was answer enough.

 

                Ichigo exhaled slowly and felt his heart calm.  The injuries he had gained during the seven weeks he had been in Aizen’s captivity had been sheer torture, both literally and figuratively.  He had been completely cut off from all three of his spirits during that time, and, to put it lightly, none of them had taken it well.  They had crowded at the forefront of his awareness for weeks afterwards, and even Shiro had temporarily extinguished his short temper while Ichigo had recovered, shutting up when Ichigo wanted rest and materializing and snarling at Kenpachi when the captain had so much as peeked into the Fourth.

 

                And while Zangetsu was the most level-headed and impartial of all _four_ of them, Ichigo was sure that that had been the day that his first spirit had truly condemned Aizen Sousuke as the enemy and developed his tremendous hatred for him.

 

                Ichigo brushed his fingers against his throat again.  It had been a close call through and through.  After he had spat one too many insults at Aizen, the madman had taken a knife to Ichigo’s throat and sawed it open, enough for him to lose his voice and feel maximum agony but not enough to die right away.

 

                Ichigo would always be eternally grateful for Shinji, who had, as he had later learned, kicked up a huge fuss about his capture, threw Yamamoto’s orders – _wait for Kurosaki Ichigo to escape; we cannot afford to carry out a rescue mission at this time_ – right back in the old man’s face, gathered up his group of Visored, and ended up storming Las Noches with three times more people than even Shinji had originally planned.

 

                They had gotten him back to Seireitei just in time for Unohana to save his voice, but... well, there was a reason Ichigo wore a scarf along with his Shinigami outfit now and it wasn't to look good.  His neck was a mess of thin, ugly scars that made people wince just from catching a glimpse of him.  He supposed he was lucky that they didn't show up on his Human body.  After Kisuke had done something science-y that Ichigo hadn't bothered listening to, not even injuries transferred over anymore.

 

                Though to be fair, before he had come back in time, he hadn't even _seen_ his Human body in over four years.

 

                _‘You are still thinking too much,’_ Zangetsu said sombrely.  _‘Let it go, Ichigo.  It will do you no good to dwell.’_

 

                Ichigo smiled half-heartedly and forcibly turned his mind away from the memories.  Some days, dwelling on his past – on a future that he would never let happen again – seemed like the only thing he could do.

 

                _Think I’ll go for a walk,_ Ichigo stood up and stretched out the phantom aches in his joints.  Damn, he felt old.

 

                _You know, I’d kill for a cup of Starrk’s hot chocolate right about now,_ Ichigo thought wistfully.

 

                **_“Yeah, for an Arrancar, he made a mean hot chocolate,”_** Shiro agreed enthusiastically.

 

                Ichigo huffed a breath of laughter that only felt a little strained.  _If nothing else, guess I’ll have to save him for that._

 

**XII.**

 

                “I’ve decided to go to school as well.”

 

                Ichigo grunted from his sprawled position on the rooftop, book placed over his face to block the sunlight.  “Clearly, or you wouldn't be here.”

 

                He winced when a foot dug into his side.  “Alright, alright, _why_ have you decided to come to school?”

 

                “To keep an eye on you of course,” Rukia said loftily.  “I should’ve realized that seeing a Hollow could be somewhat traumatizing for a Human.”

 

                “So you're here to keep me company?”  Ichigo deadpanned, lifting the novel from his face.  “I promise you, Rukia, I am in no way traumatized.”

 

                “I will decide that,” Rukia insisted, taking a seat next to him and breaking out the bento that Yuzu had made for her this morning along with his.  “Now, how do I drink from this thing?”

 

                An unbidden smile that actually felt real this time curved his mouth as he watched Rukia inspect the juice box she had picked up.  He reached over and plucked it from her hands.

 

                “Give it here,” Ichigo sat up and showed her the simple procedure.  “That’s how you do it.  All you have to do is sip from the straw.”

 

                “Ohhh...”

 

Handing the juice box back to a now wide-eyed Rukia with an exasperated shake of his head, Ichigo lied back down again.

 

                “Ah!”

 

                Ichigo glanced up again at his companion’s exclamation and followed her line of sight down to the school grounds below.

 

                “I got rid of a Hollow following her around a few days ago,” Rukia said by way of explanation.  “I didn't know she went to this school.”

 

                “There are only a few high schools in Karakura and this one’s the only public one,” Ichigo revealed, shifting his gaze to the blue sky above.  “Her name’s Inoue Orihime – our class; you must've missed her earlier.  ...She’s alright now?”

 

                “Yes,” Rukia nodded, brow furrowing in recollection.  “The Hollow was harder to dispatch than I had originally thought but I took care of it in the end.  It was once her brother.  She could see it, and she even managed to make it see sense.  I had to modify her and her friend’s memories afterwards.”

 

                Ichigo made a sound of acknowledgement.  Good, Orihime was safe, and she had even managed to say goodbye to her brother this time around as well.

 

He spared a moment to regret the fact that they would probably never be friends in this life, at least not very close friends as only shared loss and pain and hardship could forge, but she would also be safe and that much happier because of it.  Orihime had never been suited for war, no matter how obstinate she had been in following him into one battle after another.

 

                “Hey!  Ichigo!  You’re monopolizing the hot transfer student!”

 

                Ichigo heaved a sigh and reached for his book again.  He had literally not seen Keigo or Mizuiro in over half a decade after Aizen had launched an attack on Karakura and they had ended up having to seal off the Human World to prevent even more casualties.  He still cared about them of course, but their antics weren’t something he wanted to deal with right now.

 

                “Ichigo?  Who...?”

 

                “Keigo and Mizuiro,” Ichigo introduced bluntly, and then, just because he could and because he had always been protective of Rukia, past, present, and future, he raised his head and pinned Mizuiro with a sharp look.  “Put any moves on her, no matter how ridiculous, and I’ll kick your ass.”

 

                Mizuiro blinked, clearly surprised, but raised his hands and grinned cheerily.  “No worries, Ichigo, I only go for older women.”

 

                Ichigo leaned back, hiding a wry smile, but he made a face when Rukia kicked him again.  “Ow, woman!  Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a violent streak?”

 

                “I don’t need you defending me!”  Rukia retorted, though to his amusement, Ichigo picked up a pleased edge to her voice.

 

                “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Ichigo muttered, blatantly ignoring Oushima when the brainless fool arrived and started spouting nonsense.  He only stirred and waved a greeting at Chad when the larger teen appeared and shoved the bully out of the way.

 

                “You alright there, Chad?”  Ichigo asked quietly, taking in his friend’s injuries.

 

                Chad nodded silently, and then showed them the cockatiel he had brought with him, instantly drawing Keigo and Mizuiro’s attention to it.

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo saw Rukia stiffen.

 

                “There’s something in that bird, Ichigo,” She whispered, inching closer to him.  “I don’t think it’s evil though.  I’ll have to perform a Konsou on it tonight.”

 

                Sudden inspiration brightened her eyes and Ichigo slanted a wary look at her when she turned to peer down at him.  “Do you want to come?”

 

                Ichigo twitched.  “To watch you exorcise ghosts?  No thanks.”

                Rukia huffed.  “It’s not ‘exorcising ghosts’.  It’s a soul burial.  Come on, Ichigo, I’ll show you what a Shinigami does besides killing Hollows.  And I’ll even introduce you to Urahara-san; he’s a Shinigami too, even if he is a pervert.  I have to head over to his shop to buy some maintenance material for my gigai so you can come with me.  Seeing more Shinigami will help you get over your trauma.”

 

                Ichigo raised a hand whacked her lightly upside the head.  “I am _not_ traumatized; get that thought out of your head.”

 

                “Well, you can still come,” Rukia insisted stubbornly.  “I wouldn't mind some company, and it’s your friend’s parakeet I’ll be performing Konsou on.”

 

                Ichigo groaned under his breath but one look at Rukia’s set features told him that it would be futile to argue.  He didn't particularly want to see Kisuke, not like this, not right now, but at the same time, he missed the man terribly.

 

                Kisuke wouldn't be the same though, not really, mostly because he didn't know Ichigo at all.

 

                Not to mention that the shopkeeper had seen Ichigo in his Shinigami form.

 

                “Ichigo!”

 

                Ichigo sighed.  “Alright, I’ll come with you.”

 

                “To the shop and tonight’s Konsou?”

 

                Ichigo rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, to both.”

 

                He couldn't hold back a snort at the triumphant smile on Rukia’s face.

 

**XIII.**

 

                Suffice it to say, Kisuke was not expecting the tagalong that the Kuchiki girl brought with her when she swung by that afternoon.  He had known that, after the maid outfit fiasco, that Rukia had gone back to the Kurosaki household and talked her way into room and board with them.

 

                (It made him feel just a bit put out that the girl trusted Ichigo – a teenage male – enough to sleep in the same room but didn't trust Kisuke enough to sleep in the same _building_.)

 

                He had also heard from Isshin that Rukia had explained Shinigami and Hollows to Ichigo, but that she had still been handling the wayward Hollows in Karakura on her own.  Ichigo had not been helping, and as far as he knew, the teen hadn't revealed to Rukia the fact that he had been the one to save her that night.

 

                None of that explained why Ichigo was here now, a dark scowl etched on his face, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his gaze so firmly shuttered that even Kisuke couldn't pick out any semblance of emotion from the boy.

 

                “Urahara-san?”

 

                Kisuke yanked his eyes back onto the impatient Shinigami waiting in front of him and snapped open his fan to shield his face.  “Ah yes, come this way, Kuchiki-san.  You might as well come too, Kurosaki-san.”

 

                He led the way into the interior of his shop and stepped aside to let Rukia browse.  On the other hand, Ichigo simply settled himself against an unoccupied piece of wall, surveying the room with empty eyes and a shadowed expression.

 

                Casually, Kisuke meandered over, noting the way Ichigo’s shoulders increasingly tightened with each step he took.

 

                “So, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke started lightly.  “You’re taking all this Shinigami business very well.”

 

                Narrowed brown eyes pinned him with a glower worthy of Yoruichi in her worst moods.  For such a laidback woman, she could be awfully scary when riled.

 

                “I’ve always been able to see souls,” The teen replied evenly.  “Shinigami isn’t that far a stretch.”

 

                Nothing concrete.  Purposefully vague.

 

                “Hmm, true enough,” Kisuke agreed, never taking his eyes off the other’s face.  “Truer for you than anyone else though.”

 

                To his puzzlement, Kisuke caught a glimmer of amusement in Ichigo’s expression before it was smoothed away.

 

                “Maybe,” The teen acquiesced, gaze flicking briefly back to Rukia before focusing on Kisuke again.  “Does it matter?”

 

                “I should think so,” Kisuke tilted up his hat, still not looking away.  “The Gotei 13 doesn't like not knowing things, Kurosaki-san.  They know about Humans with above average reiryoku, and they know about me and my humble shop-”

 

                He paused and allowed an acknowledging smile to curl his own lips when Ichigo scoffed but continued without comment.  “-but they certainly don’t know about you.”

 

                “I'm not that interesting,” Ichigo denied.

 

                Kisuke lowered the brim of his hat again.  “On the contrary, Kurosaki-san, I think you're very interesting.  Far more than you let on.”

 

                This time, Ichigo didn't respond right away, and Kisuke was content to wait the boy out.  They both knew that Kisuke had seen the teen in Shinigami form, even if neither of them had brought it up.

 

                “Is that your Zanpakutou?”

 

                Kisuke blinked and glanced down at the cane Ichigo was looking at.  “...Hm, yes.  How did you know?”

 

                Ichigo shrugged.  “Rukia never goes anywhere without her sword, even at school.  She had to tell the teacher that it was a prop.  I figured all Shinigami would want to keep their partners close.”

 

                Kisuke’s eyes widened momentarily and he slanted another glance at Ichigo from under his hat.  “...’Partners’?”

 

                Ichigo quirked a crooked smile at him before pushing off the wall.  “That’s what Zanpakutou are, right?  Partners.  And you should never willingly leave your partner behind.”

 

                Kisuke didn't move as he watched the young man move over to Rukia’s side, only to get an armful of merchandise dumped into his arms.

 

                So Ichigo understood the concept of wielding a Zanpakutou, perhaps better than some Shinigami ten times his age.  Surely that meant that he had definitely had contact with the spirit – or spirits – of his own Zanpakutou?

 

                And if that was true, then it was highly possible that Ichigo’s Zanpakutou had taught him how to fight, and even how to defeat Hollows.

 

                The buzz of a cell phone sounded and Kisuke heard the muffled voice of one of Ichigo’s sisters on the other end.

 

                “Yeah, alright, I’ll head back now,” Ichigo hung up and turned to Rukia who was staring up at him with inquisitive eyes.  “Chad’s at the clinic.  He’s injured.  I'm heading back to lend a hand.”

 

                Rukia quickly nodded, and Kisuke watched with rising eyebrows as Rukia hastily grabbed a few more items before rounding on him and thrusting her Denreishinki at him.

 

                “Deduct whatever amount this costs from that,” The girl all but ordered before bounding after Ichigo who was already halfway to the door.  “Wait for me, Ichigo!  I'm coming too.  If it has to do with that friend of yours, it might be Hollow-related.”

 

                Kisuke hid an amused smile when Ichigo had to step to the side as Rukia rushed past him so as not to get run over.

 

                “Oi, Ki- Urahara-san, can I have a bag for all this?”

 

                Kisuke hummed agreeably and snagged a plastic bag from behind the counter even as he studiously pretended not to have noticed the slip-up.

 

                Kisuke?  He hadn't given his first name to the Kuchiki girl, and Isshin certainly wouldn't have said anything.  Even if his full name had somehow gotten around to the teen, why would Ichigo call him by his first name as if it was habit?

 

                “Thanks,” Ichigo muttered as Kisuke graciously held the bag open for the teen to spill everything inside.

 

                “Not at all,” Kisuke said cheerfully, handing the bag over to Ichigo.  “Do take care, Kurosaki-san.”

 

                He honed in on the boy’s eyes, holding his gaze for a moment.  The empty look from earlier had lessened somewhat, and a part of Kisuke was relieved that Ichigo wasn't quite as dead as he had seemed.

 

                “You're playing a dangerous game,” He commented at last when Ichigo turned away.

 

                The boy paused and then glanced back, and this time, all Kisuke could see was the bottomless desolation that he had sensed from that first night.  He was quite glad that he already had his fan out in front of his face to hide his perturbed expression.

 

                “I'm not playing any games, Urahara-san,” Ichigo returned coolly before continuing on his way.  “I can’t afford to.  And frankly, you can’t either.”

 

                Kisuke didn't bother calling the boy back as the door slid shut behind him.

 

                Couldn't afford to?  Something important then, at least to Ichigo.  And...

 

                Did the teen know something was off about Rukia’s gigai?  That wasn't a game either, not to Kisuke, not when Aizen was standing at the opposite end.

 

                But Ichigo couldn't know.  It was impossible.

 

                Kisuke shook his head and sighed.  Then again, Kurosaki Ichigo was just one impossibility after another.

 

**XIV.**

 

                In the end, Ichigo had had to step in when Shrieker proved to be too much for Rukia.  Even with her not being in the special gigai all the time, her reiatsu was still being leeched away little by little, and even Kidou didn't have as much effect as it should’ve.

 

                Luckily, because she suspected a Hollow to appear, Rukia had instructed Ichigo to stay home, so he was free to leave his body and head over to the battle.  By then, Chad had already looked thoroughly battered and Rukia was panting for breath as she dodged the Hollow’s attacks and retaliated as best she could.

 

                The moment her back had been turned, distracted by Chad who had been flung into a wall, Ichigo had shunpoed forward and sliced Shrieker in half, disappearing into the night again before it had fully dissipated and leaving the Konsou to Rukia.

 

                And now, here he was, half his mind still on his earlier cryptic conversation with Kisuke – and what the hell had he been thinking getting into a verbal spar with Urahara Kisuke of all people – and the other half receiving the third degree from Rukia as she grilled him for information about her ‘mysterious assistant’.

 

                It hadn't helped that he had forgotten to refer to the shopkeeper by his surname.  It was mere wishful thinking to hope that Kisuke hadn't caught his mistake.

 

                And maybe he should’ve held back even more, but the Kisuke he knew had warned him that, sooner or later, most people would figure out Ichigo’s origins.  A ten-year-older soul wasn't something one could hide from other Shinigami.

 

                Though Ichigo honestly wasn't planning on hiding it, at least not forever.  Eventually, he’d tell the people who needed to know, who would want to know, and work from there, but until Aizen showed his hand, he couldn't afford to tell the truth, not to the Gotei 13 anyway.

 

                A fifteen-year-old Human babbling about time travel versus a well-respected and much-adored captain in Seireitei?  That was a no-brainer hands-down.

 

                But Kisuke was different – he had no misconceptions about Aizen, hated the megalomaniac only a few levels less than Shinji and the others, but-

 

                The Kisuke that Ichigo had gotten to know had been a near-broken man, especially after Yoruichi’s death.  Dying so that Ichigo could be sent back had probably seemed like a blessing, and a tiny part of him had – and still did – resented the shopkeeper for that, for pushing everything onto him and leaving him alone.

 

                But a much bigger part wanted to keep as much of it from Kisuke for as long as possible, and even when the could-have-beens were revealed, Ichigo was glad that none of them – from the seated officers to the captains to the exiles – would have had to actually live through that future.

 

                It was why he was here after all.  Ichigo never again wanted to see the invisible but deeply permanent scars that the war had gouged into every single one of them – scars that Aizen had dealt, directly and indirectly, to even the oldest of the captains, something that thousands of years as Shinigami hadn't been able to do to Shunsui or Juushirou or even old gramps.

 

                So if Ichigo could prevent that, and he could – he _would_ , then he wanted to do it in a way that would protect them as much as possible from ever realizing just how close to total annihilation they had all been.

 

                Still, Kisuke was already suspicious, and Ichigo knew he wouldn't be able to hide it from the shopkeeper for long.  He had never been all that good at lying, while Kisuke excelled at deception and seeing through it, and a few more encounters with each other was sure to give the blond a good guess at the very least.

 

                “Ichigo, are you listening to me?”

 

                “Mm-hm,” He answered automatically, and then got a pillow chucked at him for his efforts.  He caught it and shot her a scowl.  “You are one high-maintenance woman, you know that?”

 

                Rukia scowled right back.  “This is serious, Ichigo.  There’s another Shinigami running around when there isn’t supposed to be.  I'm the only Shinigami who was sent to Karakura Town, and even if I wasn't, why wouldn't they show themselves?  It’s suspicious!”

 

                “Maybe they just want to help but they don’t want you to know?”  Ichigo suggested patiently.

 

                Rukia put her hands on her hips.  “Why would they do that?”

 

                Ichigo shrugged, reclining on his bed and looking out the window again.  “Maybe they want to be left alone.  I mean you'd be obligated to report them if you found out who they were, right?”

 

                Rukia grumbled wordlessly but seemed to take his words into consideration and subsided for a few minutes.

 

                “...Don’t you ever study?”

 

                Ichigo blinked and turned back to Rukia, arching an eyebrow.  “What?”

 

                Rukia nudged the book bag he had left on the ground.  “I never see you study.”

 

                “Ah,” Ichigo shrugged again.  It wasn't as if he had to.  He didn't remember everything from high school but definitely more than enough to get by.  “I do well enough.  I flip through my textbooks before tests and stuff.”

 

                Rukia cocked her head in a contemplative manner but didn't say anything more on the subject.

 

                Another drawn-out silence ensued, though with the summer breeze dancing through the open window, the atmosphere was a peaceful sort of tranquility.

 

                Ichigo really wouldn't mind more afternoons like this.

 

**XV.**

 

                The next three weeks flew by.  With Ichigo reigning in his reiatsu, fewer Hollows popped up hoping for a feast, which gave Rukia more free time as well.

 

                “When are you leaving anyway?”  Ichigo asked when they were walking over to the Urahara Shop from school one day.  Rukia had complained about the gigai feeling _prickly_ and had been spending as much time as possible out of it, which also meant running out of Gikongan faster.

 

                Ichigo wasn't complaining.  He was still torn on whether or not he should prevent the Hogyoku from ever reaching Seireitei in the first place.

 

                “In three days,” Rukia replied, and then shot him a teasing look.  “So eager to get rid of me already?”

 

                Ichigo snorted even as his heart clenched.  “You have no idea.  I want my closet back.”

 

                Rukia mock-sniffed but broke out into a small grin when Ichigo rolled his eyes.

 

                They got along, perhaps even better than the first time around, probably because Ichigo already knew almost everything Rukia could ever tell him about Soul Society, not to mention that he knew her inside-out.  Either way though, just like the first time, they had become fast friends.

 

                Most of the time, Ichigo was content with it.  Other times, in the dead of night or when Rukia had to skip out in the middle of the day to take care of a Hollow and he was left with his own dark thoughts, he wished she would hurry up and leave.  It was times like those that made even thinking about Rukia painful.

 

                A moment later, they both paused in their tracks when Rukia’s Denreishinki beeped.

 

                “Hollow up ahead,” Rukia announced, and then frowned when the red dot on the screen disappeared.  “Or... not.  Come on; stay behind me.”

 

                They jogged forward, Rukia alert for any signs of danger while Ichigo followed, already picking up Ishida Uryuu’s familiar reiatsu.

 

                He hadn't bothered talking to the Quincy either.  They had never been friends until the whole saving Rukia thing, and this Uryuu still avoided Ichigo like the plague, especially after Rukia had entered Karakura High.

 

                They rounded the corner in time to see Uryuu dispatching another Hollow with his bow, reishi swirling in the air around him.

 

                “A Quincy!”  Rukia breathed, looking shocked.  “Wait, isn’t he in our class?”

 

                Ichigo grunted an affirmative as Uryuu’s bow disappeared and the Quincy turned to face them.

 

                “Ishida,” Ichigo greeted placidly.

 

                Uryuu’s eyes narrowed with dislike from behind his glasses.  “Kurosaki.  And Kuchiki-san.”

 

                As Rukia eyed the Quincy warily, Ichigo supplied helpfully, “He probably knows you're a Shinigami.”

 

                Uryuu sneered, drawing himself up.  “Of course.  And I've sensed your high reiatsu since the day you entered the school.  Now you hang around a Shinigami as well.  I hate Shinigami.”

 

                Ichigo shrugged and glanced down at Rukia who was still slightly stiff as if the tension between them meant that the Quincy might attack any second.  “Come on, midget, I thought we were heading over to Urahara-san’s place.”

 

                Rukia seemed to give herself a mental shake.  “Oh yeah, of course.”

 

                She nodded politely at Uryuu before turning away in the direction they had been heading, gaze still fixed on their classmate.  Ichigo lingered, studying the Quincy’s haughty expression and following the minute cracks in that mask to the almost-nervousness underneath.

 

                Sometimes, it paid to know practically everything there was to know about someone.

 

                Uryuu hadn't had friends before he had fallen in with Ichigo and Orihime and Chad and Rukia.  Admirers, fangirls, fellow club members, and rivals for the top academic spot, but no friends.

 

                And in the end, Uryuu was still only fifteen, not yet an adult but old enough to start struggling to grow up faster than he should.

 

                “You wanna come?”  Ichigo asked in a spur of the moment.  Rukia did a double-take.

 

                Out of the three Humans who had followed him into the war and died far, far too young, it wasn't too surprising that it was Uryuu that Ichigo was making an effort to reconnect with.  Chad was already his friend and Orihime had the ever-steadfast Tatsuki, but Uryuu had even admitted, in a moment of rare sentimentality as they'd crouched behind a sand dune for a two-minute break after facing off against an army of Menos Grande under the blazing sun, that Ichigo was the closest friend he’d ever had.

 

                _Brother in all but blood_ , he’d said with a tired smirk.  _God knows I've learned to put up with your stupidity.  I hear brothers are supposed to do that._

 

                He’d died the very next day in a brutal skirmish.  Orihime had fallen soon after with a smile on her face as she followed her fiancé.  Chad had already passed on a year before.

 

                To this day, Ichigo still wondered whether or not Uryuu had sensed, in some inexplicable way, that his death had been approaching.

 

                He’d never know now though, and the Uryuu he was facing now looked a second away from gawking at him.

 

                “No, I do not!”  The Quincy recovered, bristling indignantly.  “I will not associate with Shinigami.”

 

                “Rukia’s not so bad.  A bit on the abusive side-” Ichigo got his foot stomped at this.  “-but overall very nice.”

 

                Uryuu was now staring at him in thorough disbelief as if he thought Ichigo had lost his mind.

 

                The Quincy might not actually be that far off the mark, come to think of it.

 

                “Come on,” Ichigo reached out and snagged Uryuu by one arm to get him moving.  “It’s not like you have anything better to do, right?  You can tell me about the Quincy.  Rukia only ever mentioned them in passing.”

 

                Ichigo ignored Uryuu’s splutters and half-dragged, half-talked the Quincy down the street by not letting go and rapidly firing off several questions.

 

                “You’re nicer than you look,” Rukia observed, falling into step on Ichigo’s other side as Uryuu yanked his arm back but continued lecturing them about a Quincy’s duties.  It probably helped that Ichigo wasn't a _known_ Shinigami this time around.

 

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”  Ichigo muttered back rhetorically as Uryuu alternated between glowering at them and telling Ichigo about the war between the Shinigami and the Quincy.  It sounded as If the teen had been waiting to get this off his chest for a long while now.

 

                “I wouldn't know whether the Shinigami or the Quincy were right,” Ichigo said when Uryuu finally stopped to take a breather.  “But does that really mean you have to hate all Shinigami?”

 

                “Of course,” Uryuu snapped flatly, emotion flashing in his eyes.  “My sensei was killed in front of me because the Shinigami arrived late.  I used to think the Shinigami were correct, that they were the good side in the war, until then.”

 

                Ichigo’s hand tightened around the strap of his bag.  “There are no good guys in a war, only survivors.  Once we’re on the battlefield, we’re all evil.”

 

                He received twin startled looks from both Rukia and Uryuu this time and he hastily shoved away the gloomy thoughts creeping up on him again.

 

                “But for now, let’s agree to disagree,” Ichigo knocked his shoulder against Uryuu, making the Quincy scowl.  “Besides the fact that she’s a Shinigami, you don’t actually have any problems with Rukia, do you?”

 

                Uryuu shifted uncomfortably and tossed a swift glance in Rukia’s direction before admitting, “Well no, I don’t know her that well.”

 

                “Exactly,” Ichigo nodded ahead.  “There’s the shop.  You coming in?”

 

                Uryuu looked like he wanted to refuse but there was a trace of bewilderment in his expression that seemed to make him stall.

 

                “...Since we’re already here,” The Quincy acquiesced grudgingly.

 

                Ichigo offered a half-smile, trading it for a scowl when he caught Rukia staring at him with raised eyebrows before leading the way inside.

 

**XVI.**

 

                “A Quincy this time, Kuchiki-san?”  Kisuke observed as his increasingly regular customer trotted around the shop, hearts in her eyes when she caught sight of the Chappy merchandise.

 

                The Shinigami snapped out of it long enough glance over at the two males sitting near the front door and debating – arguing, Kisuke corrected himself when he saw both teens’ scowls deepen – over something in a textbook one of them had taken out.

 

                “It wasn't my idea,” Rukia revealed, and Kisuke glanced to the side to find a speculative look cross the girl’s face.  “Ichigo dragged him along.  He practically got Ishida-san to spill his entire life story on the way here.  Or the Quincy part anyway.”

 

                Kisuke cocked his head.  “Oh?  Kurosaki-san is full of surprises.”

 

                “I guess so,” Rukia – predictably – picked up a Chappy Gikongan dispenser.  “...He said something strange.  ‘There are no good guys in a war, only survivors.  Once we’re on the battlefield, we’re all evil.’  Odd thing for a Human to say.”

 

                Kisuke’s eyes narrowed unnoticeably beneath his hat and he said nothing as he rang up Rukia’s purchases and watched her bounce back to Ichigo’s side to wave the Chappy dispenser in his face.  The boy swatted it away, most likely insulting the bunny in the process judging by the punch he received.

 

                For someone who seldom smiled, never laughed, and, as far as Kisuke had seen, could be blunt to the point of rude when he spoke, Kurosaki Ichigo was surprisingly charismatic.

 

                First a Shinigami and now a Quincy.  If a Hollow started following Ichigo around, Kisuke would’ve seen everything.

 

                They were good for him though.  Isshin had come over a few more times over the past three weeks (more visits than in the past year), and the man had been over the moon when he had told Kisuke that Ichigo was livelier with Rukia around, still prone to bouts of secluded depression at times but kept to himself less now that the boy had a Shinigami to spend time with.

 

                Kisuke had seen it as well.  Ichigo almost always accompanied Rukia on her trips over to his shop, and he had watched the darkness recede from the teen’s eyes whenever Rukia pulled him into a conversation or an argument over something inane.

 

                It always came back, which somehow managed to light a spark of concern in Kisuke even though he barely knew the boy, but while Ichigo didn't buy anything from his shop, had no need to, he still came over frequently and always exchanged a few words with Kisuke when he chose to approach the teen.

 

                “You again?!”

 

                And there was also that.

 

                Kisuke watched with no little amusement as Jinta careened out into the shop and aimed a flying kick at Ichigo’s head, only for Ichigo to bend down topick up a pencil, resulting in the redhead flying over him and crashing headlong into the front door.

 

                Naturally antagonistic to just about anyone who walked in through the door, Jinta had treated Ichigo no differently when the teen had easily managed to aggravate the boy with a few taunts the first time they had met.  It didn't help that no matter how hard Jinta tried, he simply couldn't land a single blow on Ichigo.

 

                On the other hand,

 

                “Good afternoon, Ichigo-san,” Ururu greeted meekly as she appeared as well.

 

                Ichigo didn't smile as he evaded another kick from Jinta but he did reach out and tug affectionately on one of the girl’s pigtails.  “Yo, Ururu.  How have you been?  Geta _-_ Boushi isn’t working you too hard, is he?”

 

                Ururu’s cheeks tinted red as she shook her head, and then, at Ichigo’s prompting, timidly began recounting her day.

 

                Kisuke supposed it wasn't so unexpected that Ururu had taken a liking to Ichigo; the teen did have two younger sisters after all, both of whom, according to Isshin, adored their older brother.

 

                “They’re back again?”  Tessai appeared at his elbow, a cardboard box in hand.

 

                “Yes,” Kisuke sighed, dramatically doleful.  “Yare, yare, my shop’s turned into a clubhouse.”

 

                He supposed he didn't really mind though, he decided as Tessai shot him a knowing look.

 

                At the moment, his main concern was...

 

                He flicked a glance over at the gigai that Rukia had abandoned, preferring to stay out of it whenever she could.  The Hogyoku hadn't taken hold, and since she would be leaving in a few days, there was no more time to carry that plan out.

 

                Kisuke turned pensive eyes on Ichigo again.  The teen was a Shinigami, that much was clear.  And from their brief conversations and what he’d heard on the side, Ichigo was no average fifteen-year-old.  Wiser than he should be, wearier than he should be, more hardened than he _should be_.

 

_“_ _There are no good guys in a war, only survivors.  Once we’re on the battlefield, we’re all evil.”_

 

                What a jaded view of the world.  True, but jaded nevertheless.

 

                Pieces of a puzzle, still too sparse to form a picture, niggled at the edge of Kisuke’s mind.  He was missing something here, the key that would solve whatever mystery Ichigo was shrouded in, but he didn't know what.

 

                An older soul in a younger body – that was important.  If he could figure that part out...

 

                He sighed.  Things would be so much simpler if Ichigo had just done what Kisuke had expected him to.

 

**XVII.**

 

                “Here,” Rukia waited patiently for Ichigo to take the device she had bought from Urahara.  “It’s a Denreishinki, but it’s set up so that I’ll be the only one you can contact.  If you want to, of course.”

 

                She inwardly squirmed as Ichigo stayed silent for a long minute, staring down at the device with impassive eyes.

 

Two weeks into her acquaintance with Ichigo and she had known that she wanted this Human for a friend, even if he was infuriating and grumpy-faced and made it a hobby to tease her.

 

Three weeks into her acquaintance with Ichigo and she had begun considering the not-so-legal option of keeping in contact with the Human after she left for Seireitei.  (Technically, she wasn't supposed to bunk with a Human and spend time in the Human World outside of her Shinigami duties either.  She had done both – Ichigo was a bad influence on her – so she figured breaking one more minor law on the side wasn't going affect her too much so long as nobody ever found out.)

 

And now, a month into her acquaintance with Ichigo and her assignment completed, she had weaseled the Denreishinki out of Urahara yesterday along with a promise that he wouldn't tell a soul.

 

It was ridiculous how... not exactly _attached_ , but _close_ to Ichigo she had gotten over the course of a month, yet she had had fun, the most fun she had had in a long, long time, and the friendship she had built, one that didn't expect her to act like a Shinigami officer ( _Renji_ ) or a Kuchiki noble ( _Nii-sama_ ), was something she didn't want to give up.

 

“You sure?”  Ichigo only asked, fingers finally closing around the device.

 

Rukia couldn't help beaming.  “Yeah, but wait for me to contact you.  It’s safer that way.  This isn’t exactly legal.”

 

This earned the crooked half-smile that Rukia had come to realize was something most of the world didn't see.

 

“Alright,” Ichigo agreed readily, pocketing it before accompanying her downstairs.

 

Downstairs, Rukia was met with the alarming sight of two pairs of teary eyes and one disapproving frown.

 

“Er...” She started, glancing helplessly at Ichigo as Yuzu began sniffling, Ichigo’s father grew increasingly mournful, and Karin crossed her arms.  Rukia still hadn't quite picked up the art of dealing with the rest of the Kurosaki family just yet.

 

Ichigo just heaved a long-suffering sigh and kicked his dad in the chin, propelling the man backwards and into a wall.  Rukia didn't even blink anymore – the insanity, she’d gotten used to.

 

“You’ll visit, right?” Yuzu piped up anxiously, giving Rukia a look that really made her want to promise anything.

 

“As soon as I can,” Rukia compromised.  It was the best she could do.

 

Karin just gave her a nod, but Rukia had heard from Ichigo that the older of the twins could see souls just as well as he could, except chose to ignore it.  It wouldn't surprise her if Karin knew what she was.

 

And then, with a last polite bow to Ichigo’s father, Rukia was stepping out the door, Ichigo behind her as they made their way to the Urahara Shop so she could drop off her gigai.

 

“Well, guess I’ll see you later.”

 

Rukia paused in the doorway of the Senkaimon in front of her, a Hell Butterfly hovering at her shoulder as she turned back and surveyed the two people seeing her off.  Funny enough, both Urahara and Ichigo’s gazes flitted past her for a moment and a touch of longing entered their expressions.

 

She didn't have time to analyze it though because Ichigo was stepping forward to clap her on the shoulder.

 

“Stay safe,” The Human told her, and there was a certain weight when he looked at her, as if he was trying to convey something without words.

 

Rukia looked fondly at him.  She was a Shinigami; she could take care of herself.  Ichigo on the other hand was Human.

 

“That’s my line,” She retorted with a bright smile.  “I’ll be in touch.”

 

Ichigo nodded, and for a split second, Rukia thought she caught something painfully like heartbreak in his eyes.

 

But it disappeared as quickly as it had come, if it had come at all, and Rukia shook away the unease in her gut.  With a last wave, she turned and entered the gateway.

 

Part of her guiltily wished that her assignment could've lasted longer.

 

**XVIII.**

 

                “One moment, Kurosaki-san.”

 

                Ichigo stopped in the doorway of the shop.  “What, Geta-Boushi?”

 

                His ears picked up the tap of a cane against the wooden floor.  Instinctively, he tensed.

 

                “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what is going on?”

 

                Ichigo stiffened even further for a second before finally turning around.  He was almost surprised when he found Benihime still sheathed and lowered unthreateningly.  Then again, Kisuke always seemed unthreatening, right up until you were already caught in whatever mind-twisting trap he had set up and about two seconds away from being very dead.

 

                Ichigo had had plenty of practice with handling Urahara Kisuke though.

 

                “Even if I had something to say,” Ichigo leaned against the doorframe, relaxed again but ready to move at an instant’s notice.  “Why would I tell you?”

 

                Kisuke looked highly amused.  “Come now, Kurosaki-san, you wouldn't have let me see you that first night if you had really wanted to hide it from me.”

 

                Ichigo scowled.  Well, he could handle Kisuke; he never said he could play word games with the man.  He was just too straightforward.  “Rukia was in danger.  I didn't see you do anything.”

 

                The air thickened.  This was the first time they had really touched on this topic.

 

                “Maa, I’ll go first then, as a sign of goodwill,” Kisuke forged on cheerfully when the silence stretched.  “You are a fifteen-year-old Human in body only; I’d say your soul is around twenty-five years old, give or take.  You have an in-depth knowledge of Shinigami in general even before Kuchiki-san arrived, you are already familiar with your Zanpakutou – one or two, I’m not sure – and you somehow know me in a more personal capacity than you should.”

 

                A faint tick had developed under Ichigo’s left eye.  “...How exactly was that a sign of goodwill?”

 

                Kisuke waved a magnanimous hand in the air, perceptive grey eyes never wavering from Ichigo’s.  “I offered my findings, Kurosaki-san.  Now it’s your turn – what do you know about me?”

 

                Ichigo snorted.  Ah, so that was Kisuke’s game.

 

                His gaze slid over the interior of the shop, taking comfort in the sheer familiarity of the place.

 

                He had never planned to keep things a secret.  It was just a matter of when things would come to light.  It looked like that time was now, or at least for the first time anyway.  He had no doubt he’d be repeating himself at least once more.

 

                “Being Human’s tiring,” Ichigo said at last, one hand reaching into his pocket for the Gikongan he had stolen weeks ago.  “Do you mind...?”

 

                Kisuke’s eyes glittered with curiosity and satisfaction.  “Go ahead, Kurosaki-san.  I didn't get a very good look at you last time.”

 

                Ichigo managed a sardonic twist of his lips as he swallowed a pill.  “You're not missing much.”

 

                And then he stepped out of his body.

 

                Even with Aizen on the horizon, Ichigo could still appreciate the stunned look on Kisuke’s face as the shopkeeper got his first sight of what Ichigo really looked like.

 

**XIX.**

 

                The first thought that popped into Kisuke’s mind was, _my god, he looks like he’s been through a war._

 

                Black Shinigami clothing for the most part, a black scarf accompanying the Shihakushou, and of course, the two Zanpakutou.  Somewhat messy hair that looked like it needed a trim even though the style suited the grown-up Kurosaki Ichigo rather well, and...

 

                Kisuke narrowed his eyes, catching a glimpse of a long scar almost completely hidden behind the young man’s bangs.  “...Your right eye, Kurosaki-san?”

 

                The single visible brown eye blinked once at him, carefully vacant of all emotion.  “Old injury.”

 

                Ichigo shifted, body slung over one shoulder as he moved towards the back of the shop.  Kisuke said nothing, stepping aside to let the boy – _man; this was no boy_ – pass.

 

                “Call my dad.”

 

                Kisuke arched an eyebrow.

 

                “I'm going to have to explain this again for some other people sooner or later,” Ichigo clarified.  “I’d rather not have to do it so many times.  Call my dad; I’ll tell both of you at the same time.”

 

                Kisuke watched silently as the Shinigami disappeared into the back rooms without faltering even though the man shouldn't know the layout of the shop.

 

                And then he shuffled over to the counter and picked up the phone.

 

                More puzzle pieces fell into place.  He’d just need a confirmation now.

 

                And if he was right, then the dread beginning to pool in his chest probably wasn't unwarranted.

 

                “Isshin-san?  It’s me.  Do you have some free time?  ...Well, to put it simply, your son is about to explain things and he wants you here.  ...Yes, he knows you're a Shinigami.”

 

**XX.**

 

                Isshin barely paused long enough to tell the girls that he’d be out for a while before he had hurried out of the house, closing up the clinic with little thought for patients before he slipped out of his gigai and shunpoed to Kisuke’s shop, the artificial body slung over one shoulder.  His reiatsu was nowhere near recovered but he had just enough to manage.

 

                He burst through the front door with little elegance and tore into the kitchen at the back, looking around wildly for his son, and then promptly felt like he couldn't breathe when his gaze landed on a tall orange-haired figure wrapped in shadows as he stood in one corner of the room.

 

                “Ichigo?”  Isshin’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

 

                An impassive brown eye – was that a _scar_ over the other one? – met his before Ichigo pushed off the wall and glided across the room, dropping gracefully onto the cushion seat across from Kisuke.

 

                “You wanted to know,” Ichigo started in a low tone.  “Sit.”

 

                Slowly, Isshin lowered his gigai onto the ground before picking his way over to the empty seat beside Kisuke, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his son no longer looked like a teenager.

 

                He looked more like a war veteran than anything else.

 

                Ichigo was silent for a long while.  Neither Isshin nor Kisuke rushed him.

 

                When he looked up, Isshin had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from outright cringing.  The dead, shadowed cast of grief was back.  He had thought that the Kuchiki princess had made it better.

 

                “I'm twenty-six years old, not fifteen,” Ichigo started abruptly, acquiring their undivided attention.  “And I'm from about eleven years in the future.  The Urahara Kisuke of that time sent me back.”

 

**Please leave a review on your way out.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Bleach.
> 
> General Warnings: AU, Time Travel, Ichigo-centric, violence, language, past IchiRuki.

**XXI.**

 

                The kitchen was silent.

 

                The tea was cold.

 

                The clock on the wall ticked on.

 

                Kisuke had always hated that clock.  It was annoying when nobody was talking to cover up the noise but Yoruichi liked it for its shape – a cat – so he had never thrown it out.

 

                _“We were two of the last ones left-”_

 

                His hands clenched around his teacup.

 

                _“-so you sent me back.”_

 

                They needed more tea.  Not even Ichigo was drinking the stuff anymore and he’d been downing the liquid like it was sake since he had started his recount of a future that might not – _would never_ , Ichigo had sworn, visible eye wild and dark with slinking shadows as if he thought they might not believe him – happen again.

 

                _“It had to be me.”_

 

                He slanted a sidelong glance at the man sitting beside him.

 

                _“There was no one else strong enough to fight Aizen.”_

 

                Isshin looked like someone had simultaneously hit him over the head with a hammer and told him that his son was gone, never to return.

 

                There might be more truth in that last bit than either of them was willing to admit.

 

                _“You might’ve been able to, but you were- you were a broken man, Kisuke, especially after Yoruichi-san died.  I think- I think it was kinder to let you- to let you go.  To let you rest.  I promised you I’d handle it.”_

 

                Kisuke’s jaw tightened.  Kinder to him and far, far crueler to a teenager forced to grow up too fast, thrust into a war he shouldn't have ever needed to fight in, burdened by the lives of people who had decades – centuries – of experience over the young man yet still saw fit to drag him onto the battlefield.

 

                And then, after ten years of bloodshed, Kisuke himself had sent that same man right back to the beginning to do it all over again, alone and surrounded by reminders of all the things he had lost, left to protect an entire population who would never fully appreciate what he had given up for them.

 

                Kisuke didn't care if it had been the only option or if he had been reduced to a shell of his former self or if Ichigo himself had volunteered – it was still _wrong_.

 

                So the worst thing of all was the fact that Kisuke knew that he was perfectly capable of doing exactly that if circumstances called for it.

 

                Sometimes, he disgusted even himself.

 

                He glanced up when Isshin abruptly leaned forward and reached out, only for Ichigo to automatically shift away and grasp his father’s wrist in a firm hold, one eye narrowing in warning.

 

                Isshin, paler than usual, didn't pull away.  He didn't even press for more information on Aizen or the Hogyoku.  Instead, his gaze remained riveted on the hidden part of Ichigo’s face.  “How did you get that injury?”

 

                If the slight flicker of Ichigo’s expression was anything to go by, Isshin had surprised him with the seemingly unrelated question.

 

                Kisuke closed his eyes for a moment.  It should be obvious why Isshin had asked; hadn't anyone taken care of the young man over the course of the war?

 

                “...In a battle,” Ichigo revealed slowly as if he was still looking for an ulterior motive.  He relinquished his grip on his father’s wrist.  “One of the ones against Aizen.  He got lucky.  I was careless.”

 

                Ichigo paused, and then reached up and pushed his bangs out of the way, revealing the jagged scar that ran from eyebrow to cheekbone.  But it was the unfocused pale blue of his iris that made Isshin hiss out a breath and Kisuke inwardly curse Aizen to the deepest depths of Hell.

 

                “You can’t see out of that eye?” It was less a question and more a statement as Isshin’s brow furrowed in helpless dismay and anger.

 

                Ichigo shrugged, letting his bangs fall back in place.  “It’s fine; I got used to it.  It only aches from time to time now.  I used to suck at sensing reiatsu signatures.  Now I'm much better at it.”

 

                Forced to get better at something so enemies wouldn't stab him in the back from his blind spot.  Kisuke suddenly felt very old.

 

                “And you’re a Visored?”  Kisuke enquired in an attempt to take his mind off all that the young man in front of them had lost.

 

                A sardonic smile answered him.  “Amongst other things, yes.”

 

                “You know Shinji and the others then?”  Kisuke arched an eyebrow when a wistful but fond look flitted across Ichigo’s face.

 

                “Yes, of course,” Ichigo nodded.  “They were good friends.  Valuable allies.  Shinji...”

 

                He didn't continue, one hand coming up to brush his scarf absently before focusing on them again.  “Anyway, you know the general gist of what I'm doing here now so you don’t have to worry anymore.”

 

                Kisuke exchanged a glance with Isshin.  Well, that was going to be hard to do.

 

                “Your Zanpakutou,” Kisuke said out loud instead, choosing not to pursue the previous statement.  “Are they a daishou pair or two different spirits?”

 

                For the first time since this conversation started, Ichigo’s features lightened as his hand came to rest on the two blades he had placed next to him.

 

                “They can work as a daishou pair but they’re two different Zanpakutou,” Ichigo explained.  “When they’re in Shikai form, Zangetsu becomes a daitou while Muramasa becomes a regular katana.”

 

                Kisuke straightened, gaze darting down to the purple-hilted wakizashi.  “Muramasa?  If I remember correctly, that was the name of Kuchiki Kouga’s Zanpak-”

 

                He stopped when a rush of purple reiatsu whooshed up from the sword in question.  Half a second later, a tall, thin man with pale skin and shaggy dark brown hair flashed into existence, one arm draped delicately around Ichigo’s shoulders in a subtly possessive gesture as blue-green eyes drilled coldly into Kisuke’s.

 

                “I should probably mention,” Ichigo interjected mildly, making no move to shrug his Zanpakutou off.  “Muramasa doesn't really like people talking about Kuchiki Kouga.”

 

                “...Your Zanpakutou spirits can manifest themselves?”  Isshin spoke up, looking slightly wide-eyed.

 

                “One of Muramasa’s abilities,” Ichigo replied.  “It extends to Zangetsu and Shiro as well.”

 

                “Shi- ro?”  Isshin echoed haltingly.

 

                A flicker of mischief in Ichigo’s visible eye involuntarily made something in Kisuke’s chest unknot itself.

 

                “My Hollow,” Ichigo said, not smiling but coming close.  “We work together now.”

 

                Kisuke cocked his head.  “You can do that?”

 

                Ichigo nodded.  “Took a while, but we managed.  Shinji and the others did too.  Heck, Mashiro should be pretty close right now.”

 

                Kisuke was fairly certain Mashiro didn't _mean_ to be close but if the other Visored could one day work alongside their Inner Hollow...

 

                He glanced back at Muramasa who was still staring rather disdainfully at him.  If he remembered correctly, Kuchiki Kouga’s Zanpakutou’s ability consisted of something along the lines of separating a Zanpakutou spirit from their wielder and turning the former against the latter.  While Kisuke was quite sure Ichigo would never let Muramasa do as much, it would still probably be in his best interest if he got back into the spirit’s good books just in case.  Benihime wasn’t someone he wanted to face when she was in a snit.

 

                “My apologies,” Kisuke inclined his head.  “I was only surprised.  Usually, Shinigami stick with one Zanpakutou.”

 

                _Or rather, it was supposedly impossible to wield two,_ Kisuke thought wryly.  _But what do I know?_

 

                Ichigo’s mouth twitched into a faint, knowing smirk while Muramasa ticked up an eyebrow and scoffed.

 

                “Turning Benihime against you is more trouble than it is worth,” The Zanpakutou retorted perceptively.  “She is such an arrogant blade.  The cleanup would be a nightmare.”

 

                Kisuke hid a twitch as he felt Benihime bristle.  Well, there might be a point in that.

 

                Muramasa shifted, arm tightening ever-so-slightly around Ichigo’s shoulders.  “But Ichigo is my wielder now, not Kuchiki Kouga.  You would do well to remember that, Urahara Kisuke.”

 

                Not waiting for an answer, the Zanpakutou withdrew in another flare of purple, returning to its sword without further fanfare.

 

                “...Your Zanpakutou’s got attitude at least,” Isshin commented dryly.  “Are the other two like that as well?”

 

                “Zangetsu’s the calmest,” Ichigo patted the dark red scabbard.  “He’s usually the voice of reason.  And Shiro is the... hot-tempered one.”

 

                Kisuke watched a wince follow that assessment, along with a muttered, “Oh shut up, you know it’s true.  I was never as bad as you are.”

 

                “Are you... talking to it?”  Isshin queried, looking both cautious and fascinated.  “Or him, I guess?  Is he going to show up too?”

 

                Ichigo grunted an affirmative.  “He tends to shout a lot.  And most of the time, when he appears out here, it’s to kill someone, so no, he’s not coming out.”

 

                Kisuke mentally added that to his list of Inner Hollow knowledge.  It made sense.  At their core, Hollows were the most basic instincts of all living things.  With added intelligence, the Visored could hypothetically work together with them instead of simply forcing their obedience.

 

                “So yeah, that’s about it,” Ichigo said next, yanking the conversation back on track.  The kitchen instantly felt gloomier.  “I'm not willing to gamble Rukia’s life through the execution again, so with any luck, Aizen will show his hand all on his own and I can take him out then.”

 

                Kisuke idly snapped open his fan, examining the wood thoughtfully.  He highly doubted that what Ichigo had told them was ‘it’.  The time-traveler hadn't told them about any of the battles or the other injuries he had sustained, only giving them the bare bones of the war, Aizen’s increasingly insane plans with the Hogyoku, and the Neo Hollows that the man had created.  Nothing on the trauma of fighting for ten years and watching friends and family die.  Nothing about himself and what he’d been through.

 

                “In the future, were your sisters-” Isshin blurted out, a measure of apprehension on his face.

 

                Ichigo’s expression iced over.  “Dead.”

 

                Isshin flinched, shoulders hunching a little.  “And me?  You knew I was a Shinigami so I must've fought.”

 

                “You did,” Ichigo’s gaze dropped to the empty teacup in front of him.  “You died defending them.  You and Ji-san.

 

                “Ryuuken-ji-san,” He added when Isshin blinked in confusion.  “Uryuu’s old man.”

 

                Isshin’s jaw dropped and even Kisuke was hard-pressed not to raise his eyebrows in shock.

 

                “Ah, you did bring Ishida-san with you that time,” Kisuke recalled.  “You two were close friends?”

 

                Something bitter and harsh twisted Ichigo’s mouth into a mockery of a smile.  “Yeah, we were.  We didn't get along at first.  Fought about everything, mostly ’cause Uryuu had that huge stick up his ass about Quincy hating Shinigami, but we became friends in the end.  Hard not to after you save each other’s lives a couple dozen times.”

 

                Ishida Uryuu had probably died as well then, Kisuke noted silently.  Not that it really made that much of a difference.  By coming back here, Ichigo had essentially lost every single one of the people he had cared about, whether they had been killed in battle or not.

 

                “Any more questions?”  Ichigo looked between the two, and Kisuke suddenly realized that the time-traveler looked far wearier than he had before he had told them the truth.

 

                Time to wrap things up, and then Isshin could bundle his son home for a warm meal and hopefully a restful night.

 

                “About the Hogyoku,” Kisuke brought up, not bothering to beat around the bush.  “Did we never find a way to destroy it?”

 

                “Well, it wasn't like we could experiment,” Ichigo grimaced.  “Aizen guarded the thing like you wouldn't believe.  He had it in his possession for the entire duration of the war.  But I know for a fact that simple attacks with Kidou or a Zanpakutou won’t so much as dent it.  The thing just absorbs reiatsu.”

 

                Kisuke tugged at the brim of his hat, weighing his options, and then asked quietly, “So what do you think I should do with it right now, Kurosaki-san?”

 

                Ichigo scowled, and Kisuke wondered if it was because of the question or because the younger man was probably used to being called by his first name.  It sounded as if they had become close friends in the future.

 

                “Keep it here,” Ichigo suggested after a moment.  “Bury it in one of your reiatsu-concealing gigais and then store it underground or something.  Just make sure nobody can find it.  I’ll take Aizen down before he can try anything on this shop.  Just don’t stick the thing into anyone else.  Once with Rukia was enough.”

 

                Kisuke nodded in acquiescence.  He paused in thought though, thinking back to the way Ichigo had interacted with the Kuchiki girl, the way he had almost always accompanied Rukia to Kisuke’s shop, the instinctive habit of keeping a protective eye on her at all times, their easy camaraderie, and the half-smile Ichigo would wear when something made Rukia laugh.

 

                It wasn't that far a stretch to imagine what direction their relationship could’ve taken even just a few years down the road.

 

                He drew breath to ask, and then stopped.  It was none of his business.  This aspect, at least, Kisuke thought Ichigo might want to keep to himself.

 

                He met the time-traveler’s visible eye and almost looked away again when he caught the gratitude in it, and behind that, a steadfast sort of warmth that bordered on affection.

 

                Kisuke frankly didn't deserve any gratitude, and the warmth wasn't for him; it was for the other Kisuke, the one who had lived that other future with Ichigo.

 

                “Well, I think that’s enough for one sitting,” Isshin cut in, glancing between Kisuke and Ichigo with an uncharacteristically contemplative expression before clambering to his feet.  “Ichigo?”

 

                Ichigo nodded, getting up as well with that same deadly grace borne from years of combat.  “Yeah, Yuzu’s probably almost finished making dinner.”

                Kisuke walked them to the door, waiting for both to step back into their respective gigai and body before waving them out.

 

                “See you around then, Kisuke,” Isshin nodded, his features set in a rather grave mask.  Kisuke couldn't blame him.

 

                “Bye, Kisuke,” Ichigo dipped his head as well, and then caught himself, sighing in frustration.  “I mean Urahara-san.  Sorry.”

 

                Kisuke leaned against the doorframe, surveying the teenaged face from behind his fan even as Ichigo began turning away.

 

                “Kisuke is fine,” He decided unexpectedly, mouth curling into an amused smile when Ichigo jerked back, surprise widening his eyes.  “It’s less to remember.  Better than jumping back and forth all the time.”

 

                Still, Ichigo wavered, looking torn for several seconds before shooting back, “Then you call me Ichigo.  Seriously, I haven’t heard you call me ‘Kurosaki-san’ in over seven years.  It makes me feel like I'm your student all over again.”

 

                Kisuke arched an eyebrow.  “I was your teacher?”

 

                Ichigo offered a rare smirk.  “You helped me get my own Shinigami powers after I lost Rukia’s.  In three days.”

 

                Isshin released a startled sound but Kisuke understood and his hand tightened around his fan.

 

                Encroachment.

 

                So it was his fault again that Ichigo had also been turned into a Visored.

 

                “It was necessary, idiot, and I don’t regret it.”

 

                Kisuke’s gaze flicked back up and found an astonishing amount of understanding staring back at him.

 

                Ichigo said nothing more, stuffing his hands into his pockets and heading for the gate.  “Later, Kisuke.”

 

                It was several minutes after both Kurosakis had departed before Kisuke stepped back into his house.

 

                First, he’d hide the Hogyoku deep underground, maybe dig a hole and bury it along with the gigai in the secret training ground under the shop.  Throw a few Kidou spells over it for good measure.

 

                And then he’d start jotting down everything Ichigo had told him about the new brand of Hollows made with the Hogyoku.  It wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

 

                And after that, if Yoruichi deigned to meander back to the shop in that time, he’d tell her about Ichigo – the time-traveler had given permission – and then insist on a spar.  Maybe several spars, just to ensure he hadn't gotten rusty after a century of semi-retirement.

 

                Because at this point, Kisuke was only absolutely certain of one thing.  Future self or no, choice or no, forgiven or no, he had still been the one to condemn Ichigo to a life in the past.

 

He knew better than anyone that his morals were skewed, that they had rarely ever stopped him from doing something most people would consider unethical whenever he had been stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he did try to take responsibility for his failures when he could.

 

For Shinji and the others, he had hidden them in the Human World with Yoruichi’s assistance and helped them as best he could with their Hollowfication.

 

But for Ichigo, the very least Kisuke could do for him was make sure that the younger man, no matter how much stronger than Aizen he was right now, wouldn't have to face that traitorous madman alone.

 

**XXII.**

 

                _For once in your life, act like the goddamn father you are!_   Isshin told himself firmly as he hovered uneasily outside his son’s bedroom door.  The wood didn't do much to conceal the agitated fluctuations of Ichigo’s reiatsu as the boy – man, now – was trapped in the throes of another nightmare.

 

                Taking a deep breath, Isshin pushed open the door, frowning when he spotted Ichigo huddled fitfully in one corner of the bed, back to the wall and facing the rest of the room.

 

                Quietly closing the door behind him, he made his way forward, one hand extending to shake his son awake, only to pause when he remembered what had happened when he had tried to get a closer look at Ichigo’s damaged eye.

 

                He clenched his hand but knew he wouldn't be able to wake the teen up just by calling him.  He sighed, and then laid a light hand on Ichigo’s shoulder.

 

                Half a heartbeat later, Isshin had to throw himself backwards, not daring to let himself get hit as he usually did during his morning wakeup calls (something he hadn't done in a month, come to think of it).

 

                He ducked just in time to avoid a deadly kick to his head that probably would’ve given him a serious concussion if not cracked his head open entirely.  “Ichigo!  Wake up!  It’s just me!  Your old man’s not quite ready to head back to Soul Society just yet, you know!”

 

                To his immense relief, his voice seemed to cut through the battle instincts honed into his son, and the next blow, a swift open-palm thrust that would’ve broken at least one rib, stopped an inch away from his torso.

 

                Damn, Ichigo was fast.

 

                Isshin said nothing as he watched horror dawn in his son’s eyes.  Instead, as Ichigo began stumbling backwards, he wrapped a clumsy arm around the young man’s shoulders and ushered him back to the bed, not letting go even when Ichigo’s entire frame stiffened.

 

                “Oyaji...”

 

                Isshin almost missed it; Ichigo’s voice was barely above a hoarse murmur.

 

                He closed his eyes and pulled his son closer, regretting all the years he had kept his distance.

 

                “I'm fine,” Ichigo continued, insistent even when Isshin could clearly feel the tremors that wracked his son’s body.

 

                He silently swore that if he ever got his hands on Aizen before Ichigo was finished with him, he’d make the man suffer.

 

                Isshin had never been good with words, especially not with Ichigo, so he settled for sitting silently beside the teen for the next hour, waiting for the shivers to stop and hoping his presence was enough to provide some comfort.

 

                “He wanted to make me hurt,” Ichigo spoke up forty minutes in, voice still croaky but no longer as stiff as a board and actually leaning tentatively against Isshin.  “Aizen, I mean.  I wasn’t- I'm good at standing up to torture, but not so good when it comes to losing people.  He figured that out soon enough.”

 

                Isshin had to grit his teeth and remind himself that he barely had any reiatsu so he couldn't storm out right then and there to hunt Aizen down.

 

                Torture.  Ichigo spoke of it as if it was a minor side note.

 

                He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep listening.

 

                “So he took Karin and Yuzu,” Ichigo revealed, raw guilt in every syllable.  “I was in Hueco Mundo at the time, in the middle of another skirmish, so it was just you and Ji-san and a few other Shinigami in Karakura.  Five blocks of this town was destroyed in the battle, but you two lost in the end and Aizen took them.  I went after them, I swear I did, but I was-”

 

                Ichigo’s voice cracked and his shoulders slumped.

 

                _I was too late._

 

                Isshin blinked back the burn of tears in his own eyes and gave his son a rough shake.  “It’s not your fault.  And it won’t happen again.  That’s why you're here, right?  And I’ll head over to Kisuke’s tomorrow to exchange my gigai for a standard one.  It’s high time I started getting my reiatsu back.  On the off-chance that Aizen does show his ugly mug around here, I’ll be ready for him.  I’ll even nag Ryuuken into readying his bow if you think I can tell him the truth as well.”

 

                A strangled sound clawed its way from Ichigo’s throat, something between a laugh and a sob.  Unsurprisingly, there were no tears; Isshin knew that his son hadn't cried since Masaki had died, though he suspected Ichigo would’ve broken down at the deaths of his sisters at the very least.

 

                Just thinking about that possibility made his throat constrict.

 

                “I don’t know if he’ll want to help,” Ichigo said after a few seconds.  He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers lingering distractedly over his right eye.  “Ji-san stayed out of the war for the first four years.  He only joined after Uryuu lost an arm in one of the battles.  Most Quincy without two working arms are kinda useless.  Uryuu almost freaked until Ji-san snapped him out of it and taught him how to shoot one-handed.”

 

                “He’ll help,” Isshin said confidently.  “He doesn't get along with his son but he does love him.  If Aizen threatens that, Ryuuken will step in.  Then again, you already know that, don’t you?”

 

                Ichigo shrugged.  “Yeah, I know what he’s like.  I met him when I was sixteen, but I didn't really get to know him until he officially joined the war.  He and Uryuu got closer after that.  But this is the past and nothing’s happened yet.  You might not be able to convince him.”

 

                Isshin huffed.  “Well, that’s what blackmail’s for.”

 

                At his son’s deadpan look, Isshin broke out into a grin.  “What?  I have these great pictures of this one time Ryuuken got drunk.  I’ve never told him I had them.”

 

                “That would explain why you’re still alive,” Ichigo said dryly.  “Well, your funeral.  Don’t expect me to haul your ass out of trouble when Ji-san starts using you for target practice.”

 

                Isshin released a bark of laughter, inwardly sagging with relief.

 

_He’s not all gone.  He’s just lost.  I can still get my son back._

 

                “You leave Ryuuken to me,” Isshin clapped Ichigo on the shoulder before withdrawing at last.  The semi-hug had been significantly less embarrassing than he had thought it would be.  Ichigo certainly didn't seem to mind.  “I might even invite him over for dinner.  With his son.”

 

                Ichigo blanched as he smoothed out his blankets.  “Uryuu and I still don’t get along right now.  Not really anyway.  You can tell Ji-san, just to let him know what’s going on and what might happen, but don’t go dragging either of them into this.”

 

                Isshin eyed his son carefully.  “...You don’t want your old friends back?”

 

                Ichigo’s hands stilled.  “They’re not my friends anymore, or at least not the same, and they never will be if I have anything to say about it.  I just- I just want them to be happy.  No matter how optimistic she was, Orihime wasn't cut out for war, but she fought anyway, helping out the Fourth with her abilities.  Chad followed me into the war because of our promise but he’s never been the violent type.  And Uryuu always said that he couldn't care less whether or not the Shinigami died, and that he was only there to make sure the three of us, along with Renji and Rukia, made it out alive.  He didn't particularly want to fight either, and this time, I'm going to make sure they won’t have to.”

 

                Ichigo’s voice thrummed with a resolve that made Isshin want to beam with pride and cry at the same time.

 

Damn Aizen for starting the war.  Damn Kisuke for sending Ichigo back alone.  It wasn't fair.  If his son was to be the one to save everyone else, who the hell was going to save Ichigo?

 

“I didn't hit you, did I?”

 

Isshin blinked out of his thoughts.  “Hm?  Nah, your old man’s still got a few tricks in him to avoid his son’s temper tantrums.”

 

Ichigo snorted and rolled his eyes as he flopped onto his back.  “Whatever.  I'm going back to bed.”

 

Isshin smiled fondly at the teen before getting to his feet.  He paused three steps later, another question plaguing him, and he turned back, only to find Ichigo peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

 

“You told me,” His son said before Isshin could say anything.  “About Kaa-san.  I know.”

 

                Isshin’s breath froze as he stared back.  “You- Then...”

 

                Ichigo closed his eyes.  “To be honest, it doesn't really affect anything.  I'm still me, and after all the shit my soul’s gone through, being half-Quincy is the least of my worries.”

 

Isshin released the breath he was holding.  “...Your heritage isn’t all that important in the end.  What’s important is what you do with it, and your mother, she’d be proud of you.  She’d be proud of what you've grown up into.  ...I know I am.”

 

Ichigo smiled, faint and brief but genuine.

 

Isshin would count that as a win.

 

**XXIII.**

 

                “Kurosaki.”

 

                Ichigo opened his eyes drowsily, shifting his glance to the left above him.  “Yo, Ishida.”

 

                Neither of them moved for a few seconds, but after observing the microscopic nervousness in the line of Uryuu’s shoulders, Ichigo reached out with one leg and tapped his heel against the cement floor of the roof.  “Make yourself at home.”

 

                He heard more than saw Uryuu scoff but it didn't surprise him when the Quincy sat down.

 

                Another long silence ensued.  It had been two weeks since Ichigo’s goof-faced father had barged into his room and actually stuck around long enough to make sure he was alright – not a first for Ichigo after the war had started and his dad had occasionally sought out Ichigo to make sure he hadn't gone off the deep end or something, but definitely a first at this point in time.

 

                He also knew that his old man had gone to talk to Ryuuken last week, but he wasn't sure if Ryuuken had told his son.  It didn't seem like the sort of thing the hospital director would do, especially this early in the timeline.

 

                “My- father asked about you yesterday,” Uryuu said at last, stiffly formal.  “He seems to be under the impression that we are... friends.”

 

                The distaste in Uryuu’s voice almost made Ichigo snicker.  It was true that, after that visit to Kisuke’s shop, the two of them had shared lunch together a handful of times, though only when Ichigo was alone for the hour and Uryuu would mysteriously appear and take a seat a few feet away from Ichigo on the roof.  Most of the time, they wouldn't even talk, but Ichigo never felt like saying a whole lot these days anyway, had never been a chatterbox in the first place, and Uryuu seemed perfectly content to sit in companionable silence.

 

Ichigo hummed noncommittally now, gaze focused on the sky overhead.  “And?  What did he want?”

 

                “...He asked me to invite you over for dinner.  If I felt like it.”

 

                Ichigo blinked, and then raised his head and peered at the Quincy.  “Huh?”

 

                Uryuu adjusted his glasses, already looking annoyed.  “You heard me.  I have no idea why, but Ryuuken wants you over for dinner.  I didn't know you knew each other.  What did you do, Kurosaki?”

 

                Ichigo sighed and dropped his head back on the arm he was using as a cushion.  “Some things have... come to light, you could say.  Talk to your dad about it.”

 

                “Ryuuken and I do not talk,” Uryuu all but spat out frigidly.

 

                Ichigo shrugged.  “Okay, just saying.”

 

                “Why can’t you tell me about whatever this is?”  Uryuu demanded.  “Ryuuken has been distracted for the past week.  Do you know what that’s about?”

 

                “Probably,” Ichigo didn't see any point in lying.  “Your dad and my dad are friends, you know.  My old man went over and told him a few things last week.”

 

                “Ryuuken has friends,” Ichigo heard Uryuu mutter under his breath.  “He has _Kurosaki’s_ _father_ as a friend.  Now I've seen it all.”

 

                Ichigo rolled his eyes.

 

                “What things?”  Uryuu asked persistently.

 

                Ichigo looked up at the sky again, not really seeing it as he pictured Soul Society in his mind’s eye.  “Oh, just some things.”

 

                Uryuu looked torn between growling and throttling Ichigo.  “Kurosaki, stop being purposefully cryptic.  It’s irritating.”

 

                Ichigo sighed again.  “I'm not sure if your father would want me telling you.”

 

                Uryuu glowered down at him.  “Ryuuken has no say in what I should or shouldn't know.”

 

                Ichigo grunted.  “Fine, that’s your business.  But you might be better off not knowing.  Happier.”

 

                Uryuu’s frown deepened.  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

 

                Ichigo sat up, back slouched as he surveyed Uryuu’s features.  The Quincy was so damn young, unscarred and unburdened by death and grief.

 

                “You still hate Shinigami?”  Ichigo enquired, leaning back on his hands this time.

 

                Uryuu’s eyes narrowed impatiently.  “Yes, why would that have changed just because Kuchiki-san has left?”

 

                “Hmm,” Ichigo tilted his head.  “I'm a Shinigami.”

 

                Uryuu stared, and then his eyes dropped down to the ground, obviously seeking out Ichigo’s spirit ribbon.

 

                “Your spirit ribbon’s not red,” The Quincy said defensively.  “It’s-”

 

                “But it’s not white either,” Ichigo said, his own gaze sliding downwards.  “It’s grey.  I'm Human, but I'm also part Shinigami.  A hybrid, basically.”

 

                Uryuu looked mildly confused and equally displeased.  “So you’re saying one of your parents is a Shinigami?”

 

                “My dad is,” Ichigo nodded.

 

                Uryuu almost did a double-take.  “But Ryuuken-”

 

                “Shinigami and Quincy can be friends,” Ichigo insisted quietly.  “You and I are, right?”

 

                “No, we are not!”  Uryuu snapped.

 

                “I just told you I'm a Shinigami,” Ichigo reminded him.

 

                “What of it?”

 

                “You’re still here,” Ichigo pointed out calmly.

 

                Uryuu opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it again when nothing came out.  For a moment, he looked ready to get up and march away, but several seconds ticked by and the Quincy remained sitting, looking disgruntled more than anything else.

 

                Something in Ichigo’s heart ached.  He couldn't decide if it was a good or bad sign.

 

                “When?”  He asked instead.  At Uryuu’s raised eyebrow, he clarified, “The dinner?  When should I come?”

 

                Uryuu frowned again.  “Tonight.  But you don’t have to come.”

 

                “You want to know, right?”  Ichigo queried.  Uryuu nodded firmly, eyes flashing determinedly.  “Then I’ll tell you after I find out what your dad wants.”

 

                He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky again, trepidation settling over him like a cloak.  Ishida Ryuuken had never been one to do things without reason.  Something as inane as dinner when the doctor was probably perfectly aware that he and Uryuu weren’t _that_ close screamed a different intention.

 

**XXIV.**

 

                “Kurosaki, watch out!”

 

                Ichigo was already moving before Uryuu had fully shouted a warning, diving out of the way of a Quincy arrow, the reishi dissipating behind him in a rain of blue light.

 

                “Ryuuken, what are you doing?!”

 

                Ichigo scowled up at the impassive man standing on the roof of the Ishida house, white bow in hand as he readied another arrow.

 

                Ichigo gritted his teeth and reached for his gikongan, only to leap out of the way when the next arrow sizzled past the back of his hand, a clear warning not to use the pills.

 

                So that was Ryuuken’s game.  Ichigo’s own father must have told him about-

 

                He rolled out of the way once more, vaulting to his feet as he dodged three more attacks.  But just as he was about to rush forward, blue and white blocked his path, and Uryuu was suddenly standing there with his own weapon drawn.

 

                “Uryuu-” Ichigo stuttered out, startled.

 

                “What are you doing?”  Uryuu bit out, ignoring Ichigo.  “Why are you attacking him?  You’re the one who wanted him over for dinner!”

 

                Ryuuken only eyed his son with expressionless eyes, and then, before Uryuu could react, he fired off five more successive arrows, the assault blurring together in a mirage of blue.  The first two were countered with two of Uryuu’s own but the next two knocked the bow clean out of the younger Quincy’s hands and the last-

 

                Ichigo clicked his tongue in irritation and reached out to yank Uryuu behind him before throwing out a hand.

 

                “Blut Vene,” He muttered, and as the arrow struck, the palm of his hand lit up with a faint pattern of reishi blue, outlining the veins under his skin.

 

                The arrow dissolved instantly, and Ichigo could almost hear Uryuu’s shock behind him as he raised his head and stared back at his impromptu opponent.

 

                Ryuuken gazed back, eyes as assessing as Ichigo remembered them to be.  A heartbeat, two, and then the man lowered his weapon and disappeared into the house without a single word.

 

                Ichigo released a short exhale.  Uryuu’s father never did anything by halves.  The man just had to attack him and force his meager Quincy abilities out into the open merely to prove that he wasn't lying.

 

                “Kuro- saki?”

 

                Ichigo glanced behind him and ran a hand through his hair.  “Did I mention my mother was a Quincy as well as your father’s adoptive sister?”

 

                Uryuu stared at him for a full five seconds before pinching the bridge of his nose.  “There’s never a dull moment with you, is there?”

 

                Ichigo smiled humourlessly.  “Can’t say there is.”

 

**XXV.**

 

                “You’re from the future,” Uryuu said flatly, chopsticks forgotten in his hand.  In fact, most of dinner was forgotten as he stared from Kurosaki to Ryuuken and then back to Kurosaki again.  “And you came back to save the Shinigami.”

 

                “Technically, I came back to save the world,” Kurosaki smiled at him.  It didn't reach his eyes.  “Talk about cliché, huh?”

 

                Uryuu stared some more.  “And I... fought with you in that war... with the Shinigami.”

 

                Ichigo swallowed a mouthful of rice.  “Well, you always insisted that you weren’t fighting for the Shinigami, just me and Orihime and Chad.  Renji and Rukia too.  But there was that time you saved Kira, and that other time you saved Yachiru, and that other time-”

 

                “I get it,” Uryuu cut him off, still trying to wrap his mind around all the information that had been dumped on him.  It was his own fault, really.  He had been the one to insist on being told.  “...By Orihime, you mean Inoue-san from our class?  And Chad would be that big friend of yours?”

 

                Kurosaki nodded.  “And you’ve met Rukia.”

 

                Uryuu grimaced.  “And this Renji...?”

 

                “Shinigami,” Kurosaki confirmed.  “Sixth Division lieutenant.  Until-”

 

                Kurosaki stopped, mouth twisting before returning to his dinner.  He said nothing more and Uryuu didn't push.  Since he had gotten to know the other teen – or was that man now, him being twenty-six and all? – he had discovered that there were things that made Kurosaki clam up, even when he was already silent to begin with.  On occasion, Kurosaki would catch sight of something seemingly normal and just stop.  Not physically unless he was already standing still, but Kurosaki would simply shut down.

 

                Maybe those things reminded him of people he had lost in the war?  People he had lost by... coming back in time.

 

                Uryuu’s head reeled.  This was ridiculous and barely believable, and barely only because his down-to-earth father of all people believed it.

 

                “And you’re also half-Quincy,” Uryuu stated, deciding that his sanity would remain better intact if he stayed on less staggering topics.

 

                “Yes,” Kurosaki nodded again.  “But I'm not that good.”

 

                “You pulled off Blut Vene,” Uryuu scowled.  “I can’t do that.  Yet.”

 

                Kurosaki snorted.  “Blut Vene and Blut Arterie are the _only_ things I can do, plus I'm eleven years older than you.  I can manage Hirenkyaku as well, but I prefer sticking with Shunpo.”

 

                Uryuu was only slightly mollified, but his mind was stuck on the age difference again.  “...Eleven years.  The war lasted for ten of those?”

 

                Kurosaki’s expression darkened and the grip on his chopsticks increased in strength.  “Yeah.”

 

                Something brittle surfaced on his features, sharp and vulnerable at the same time and looking three seconds away from shattering.  And then Kurosaki pulled himself together, tucking that expression away and replacing it with a neutral mask instead.

 

                Uryuu looked away.  For some reason, it felt like an intrusion of privacy if he stared too long when Kurosaki was like this.

 

                “And what’s your opinion on this?”  Uryuu latched on to the only other occupant in the room for a diversion.  “You didn't have to attack him.”

 

                Ryuuken glanced at him, irritatingly aloof.  “It was a test.  He shouldn't have tapped into his Quincy abilities yet at this point in time.  Although I admit, I wasn't expecting you to do something as foolish as throwing yourself in front of Kurosaki-kun.”

 

                Uryuu felt an unbidden flush rise in his cheeks and he stomped down hard on his embarrassment.  He hadn't _meant_ to jump in the way; his body had just reacted to the threat.  He knew better than anyone just how good his father was with a bow in his hands, and while he and Kurosaki were most definitely not friends, Uryuu couldn't just _let_ his classmate get shot.

 

                He turned back to Kurosaki and found the teen watching them with a nostalgically amused look on his face.

 

                “What?”  Uryuu snapped, the expression making him uncomfortable.

 

                Kurosaki shook his head.  “Nothing.  Brought back memories, that’s all.”

 

                Uryuu eyed him for a long minute, thinking of a war he hadn't yet fought in and probably wouldn't now, of everything he would’ve potentially done in another timeline with no time-travelling Kurosaki Ichigo, before his mouth opened and he asked the question without really meaning to, “Did I die?”

 

                Kurosaki’s expression froze.  Out of the corner of his eye, Uryuu saw Ryuuken pause for the first time all evening.

 

                “Why would you ask something like that?”  Kurosaki would’ve looked honestly inquisitive if his face hadn't taken on a clinically distant cast.

 

                Uryuu shrugged.  He didn't really know.  Call it morbid curiosity perhaps.

 

                “...Yes,” Kurosaki’s voice sounded detached and hollow.  “You died.”

 

                Uryuu wasn't quite sure how to take this.  He felt... vaguely horrified maybe, that in another time, he had died less than a decade from now.

 

                “Did I accomplish anything?”  The questions wouldn't stop coming.  “Did I make a difference?”

 

                Kurosaki sighed quietly but seemed to consider the enquiries seriously.  “You saved a lot of lives when you were still around.  Accomplish something?  Well, you discovered a way for Quincy to kill Hollows without completely destroying them so they’d still return to Soul Society after they died.”

 

                Uryuu straightened in his seat.  “ _What_?”

 

                Kurosaki smiled his odd half-smile.  “Yeah, even the Shinigami were impressed.  You did good.”

 

                “How?”  Uryuu demanded, completely floored.  “How did I do it?”

 

                Frustratingly enough, Kurosaki only shrugged.  “Your discovery, Uryuu.  Even if I could, which I can’t because technical Quincy stuff usually flies over my head and you gave up explaining things to me ages ago, I wouldn't tell you.  Well, maybe I’d give you a hint, but otherwise, no.”

 

                Uryuu glared at him.  Stupid Shinigami.  Oh wait, Kurosaki was half-Quincy.  Still, the Shinigami stupidity was clearly dominant in his genes.

 

                He paused and thought back.  “...You just called me Uryuu.”

 

                Kurosaki made a face.  “I meant Ishida.  Don’t mind me; I’ll get used to it soon enough.”

 

                Huh.  Had they really been friends?  Then again, Uryuu _had_ supposedly followed Kurosaki into a war of all things.

 

                “Anyway, that’s the truth, what you wanted to know,” Kurosaki glanced at him, suddenly looking wiser than even his twenty-six years.  “Are you any happier?”

 

                Uryuu blinked.  Truthfully, he wasn't happier or sadder than he had been before.  Some part of him still couldn't quite believe that this was really happening and that the orange-haired wild-looking teen from his class who, until about two months ago, couldn't even control his own reiatsu and got into more fights than half the school put together, was a time-traveler from a future that had been filled with blood and battle and would’ve ended in disaster at the hands of a megalomaniac.

 

                It felt like a dream, a story.

 

                Beside him, Kurosaki set down his empty rice bowl – completely empty, Uryuu noticed, with not a speck of food left – and leaned back, still watching him out of the corner of his left eye.

 

                (Uryuu had noticed that for a while – he wondered if there was something wrong with Kurosaki’s right eye; the other teen usually led with his left when turning to look at someone.)

 

                Outwardly, he shrugged.  “I’ll manage.  I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.  So?  You’re going to go defeat this Aizen.  Did you come to ask me to fight as well?”

 

                Kurosaki’s head snapped around so fast Uryuu was surprised he didn't get whiplash.  As it was, Uryuu was the one who started, drawing back a little as his classmate rounded on him.

 

                “ _What?!_ ”  Kurosaki hissed, fury and pain and exhaustion and a maelstrom of other emotions strangling his voice.  “Of course not!  Haven't you been _listening_?  I came back to change everything; I came back to save everyone.  Call it naive or idealistic or just plain stupid but that’s what I'm here to do.  Kill Aizen – that’s my job.  I don’t want any of you within a hundred miles of that bastard!”

 

                Uryuu stared, wide-eyed and not quite sure how to react to Kurosaki’s outburst.

 

                “And then?”

 

                They both turned.  It was the first time Ryuuken had spoken directly to both of them without prompting.  The man’s attention was focused on Kurosaki however.

 

                “And then?”  Ryuuken repeated.  “What will you do after you kill Aizen?”

 

                Kurosaki faltered.  “...I- I’ll get on with my life.  What else would I do?”

 

                Later that night, after Kurosaki had left and Uryuu was getting ready for bed, he paused on his way to his bedroom, lingering outside Ryuuken’s office just out of sight.

 

                “-ger problems than Aizen Sousuke, Isshin.  Your son doesn't even have a plan for what comes afterwards.  ...Of course that’s important; it means, on some level, your boy doesn't expect to live past Aizen.”

 

                Uryuu tiptoed off to bed without sticking around to hear the rest.

 

                That night, he lied in bed and reviewed everything he had learned, remembered what Kurosaki had told him of the destruction of Soul Society and the bitterly cold nights in Hueco Mundo and the daily battles they had fought, barely a moment’s rest in between and sometimes not even that.

 

_Just fight after fight with no end in sight, ten years of spilling blood for no other reason than the whims of a man with aspirations of godhood, slowly losing hope as the months trickled by and comrades fell at the hands of the enemy one by one..._

 

                “ _Uryuu_.”

 

                Uryuu jerked awake, his father’s voice, sharp and stern, cutting through the crimson-tainted darkness clouding his dreams.

 

                He gasped for breath, and it took several seconds for him to realize that he was shivering, a sheen of sweat beading his forehead as he sat tangled in his blankets.

 

                It took another few thudding heartbeats to notice the warm, steady weight of his father’s hand on the back of his neck, loose enough not to hurt but firm enough to provide something to ground Uryuu to reality.

 

                Shakily, he reached for his glasses just to drag his jumbled thoughts away from the hazy images his mind had conjured up.  Kurosaki hadn't gone into detail but-

 

                Well, he supposed it was finally sinking in.

 

                A glass of water appeared in his line of sight, and after a moment of dumbfounded incredulity, Uryuu nodded his thanks and numbly gulped down half the glass.

 

                In the end, his father didn't say anything and there wasn't much of a shift in the man’s sombre features, but Ryuuken stayed with him until his shaking subsided twenty minutes later, and even waited until Uryuu was lying down again before heading for the door.  Ryuuken didn't say goodnight and Uryuu didn't voice his thanks, but the fact that the former had come in at all was already more than enough.

 

                For them, that was practically everyone else’s version of proclaiming familial love from the rooftops.

 

                Left alone again, Uryuu closed his eyes but didn't attempt to go back to sleep for a while.  The nightmares he had had were already fading, fuzzy pictures that were mostly products of his own imagination.

 

                If this was how he felt after hearing a second-hand account of a possible future, how the hell could Kurosaki even stand closing his eyes?

 

**XXVI.**

 

                “Sing, Benihime!”

 

                Kisuke shunpoed backwards when the energy blast proved to be largely useless and Ichigo simply barrelled straight through the attack (there was something universally unfair about that), cutting it in half before descending on Kisuke like a demon from Hell, the wakizashi in Ichigo’s left hand swinging for Kisuke’s ribcage while the katana swept upwards for the follow-up blow.

 

                Kisuke quickly avoided both in a blur of flash steps, vaulting backwards to put some distance between them.

 

                This was ridiculous.  His sparring partner hadn't released even one of his Zanpakutou yet; Ichigo’s own reiatsu was sufficient enough to hone both his blades without needing to go to Shikai.  Kisuke had been forced to release Benihime three minutes into their spar once again.  Either he was really out of shape or Ichigo was just outrageously strong.

 

                Considering the fact that the last time he had fought Yoruichi several months ago, they had come to a tie, he was fairly certain it was the latter, which in truth was just a little bit frightening.

 

                He had no more time for speculation when Ichigo appeared half a foot away in a swirl of black and orange, swords swinging at him in rapid succession.  Kisuke deflected the wakizashi before crossing blades with Zangetsu, digging his heels in when he felt the power behind that single strike.

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Muramasa returning for a second blow.  Swiftly, he pushed off Zangetsu, ducking under the sweep of the wakizashi before bringing up Benihime again and lashing out with an assault of his own, momentarily knocking Ichigo a few steps backwards as Kisuke spun on his heel and forced both his opponent’s blades out of range.

 

                Ichigo recovered with envious ease, visible eye glittering with the thrill of a good fight as he lunged at Kisuke again.

 

                Kisuke found an answering smirk curving his own lips as he hopped away, his free hand coming up to steady his hat as a thrust of the opposing katana narrowly skimmed the side of it.

 

                “Now, now, Ichigo,” Kisuke called out cheerily, keeping a safe distance away as they both paused for a breather.  “That wasn't very nice.  You almost killed my favourite hat.”

 

                Ichigo snorted, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.  Kisuke hid an approving smile.  Ever since the time-traveler had started coming over for a spar every few days upon Kisuke’s request, Kisuke had found that he liked it best when Ichigo forgot about covering up his blind eye.  There really was no point; the twenty-six-year-old had clearly gotten used to compensating for his handicap, and in Kisuke’s humble opinion, glaring at an enemy with those eyes would send most lower-levelled Hollows packing.

 

                He blinked back into the present, and then leapt back as Zangetsu hurtled towards his chest, but his moment of distraction had cost him, and he had to freeze when he felt the cool touch of a second blade at the back of his neck.

 

                “Yield?”  Ichigo enquired conversationally, brown eye gleaming with adrenaline.

 

                Kisuke huffed out a breath, and then glanced up with another smirk.  “Maa, not quite.  Bind, Benihime.”

 

                A blood red net burst from his sword, and at this close a distance, it instantly began wrapping itself around its victim.

 

                Kisuke smiled smugly when the wakizashi disappeared from his neck, only to raise his eyebrows in surreptitious astonishment when Ichigo managed to ward off the net with Zangetsu long enough to flip the wakizashi so that the tip of the blade now pointed to the left.

 

                “Whisper, Muramasa!” Ichigo barked, and the ensuing explosion of purple reiatsu obliterated the net in a heartbeat.

 

                Kisuke felt Benihime stir as the purple light brushed against him, but like all the times before, Ichigo, or perhaps Muramasa himself, reigned the Shikai ability in without affecting Benihime.

 

                “Draw?”  Kisuke offered with no small amount of amusement.  Except for the first time when Ichigo had taken him off-guard and beaten him into the ground (Ichigo’s words, not his; Kisuke’s pride preferred ‘lucky hits when he hadn't expected them and wasn't ready’), the following seven spars that they’d had had all ended in ties.

 

                Ichigo scowled at him but there was no heat behind it and a nod answered him a second later.  “Draw.”

 

                Kisuke chuckled as he sheathed Benihime again, Ichigo doing the same with Muramasa before they both headed for the ladder that would take them back up to the shop.

 

                He paused briefly to scoop up the coat he had discarded at the beginning.  The thing normally didn't hamper his movements too much but Ichigo was simply too fast to keep it on and still avoid getting hit.

 

                “You never release Zangetsu,” Kisuke remarked five minutes later as they lounged in the kitchen, a tray of Tessai’s tea between them.  Tessai, after hearing from Kisuke about just who Ichigo was, had, strangely enough, smoothly fallen into the role of catering to anything Ichigo needed when he was at the shop, much akin to the way he kept an eye on Kisuke to make sure he ate properly.  “Only Muramasa.”

 

                Ichigo grunted, sipping at his tea.  “Zangetsu’s different from Muramasa.  His Shikai release used to be his Bankai.”

 

                Kisuke stilled.  “...A Bankai for a Shikai, Ichigo?  And I'm guessing you have something on top of that?”

 

                Ichigo smiled ironically at him.  “Now you’re getting it.”

 

                Kisuke shook his head.  He’d learned to stop doubting the impossible when it came to Ichigo.

 

“And his current Shikai isn’t fit for spars?”  He could understand that; Benihime’s Bankai form wasn’t exactly fit for public eyes unless it was an emergency.

 

Ichigo tilted his head in a considering manner.  “It’s not really that.  Mostly, it’s ’cause Zangetsu’s release command is damn long compared to Muramasa’s, not to mention it doesn't really work with Muramasa added to the mix, and-”

 

A sly smirk tipped up one side of Ichigo’s mouth.  “You might not be able to keep up.”

 

Kisuke arched an eyebrow at this challenge.  “One day, we’ll have to test that.”

 

Ichigo actually managed a small grin this time that only served to make him look startlingly young.  “And you’ll end up getting your ass kicked, Kisuke.”

 

Kisuke hid an exasperated smile behind his teacup but absently made a note to drop a word to Isshin that spars seemed to be good for Ichigo.  He wasn't sure how the time-traveler would handle a real fight with lives on the line but a fight just for fun evidently affected Ichigo in a positive way.

 

At the very least, the dead expression Ichigo couldn't always hide had been temporarily chased away.

 

It didn't hurt that Kisuke could wrangle a decent challenge out of their spars either.  Fighting Yoruichi was all good and well, but the woman had the irksome tendency to disappear for months on end without a word to anyone and only return when she wanted to, leaving Kisuke to secretly worry over whether or not _this time_ would be the time his childhood friend had gotten herself captured and dragged back to Seireitei.  It wasn't as if he could complain though; Yoruichi had always done whatever she wanted to ever since they’d been kids, probably a side-effect of being the Shihouin princess, and he couldn't forget his debt to her – he and Tessai would be stripped of their Shinigami powers right now if she hadn't saved them).

 

But ever since he had been booted out of Soul Society, there hadn't really been anyone he could ask for a friendly spar from or simply enjoy a cup of tea with.  The Visored, while grateful to him, preferred keeping to themselves and away from civilization for the most part.  Isshin had willingly given up his reiatsu for Masaki and didn't visit very often for fear of his children finding out what he was, Ryuuken wanted nothing to do with Shinigami (Isshin notwithstanding), and while Kisuke was content for the most part with Tessai, the kids, and Yoruichi wandering in and out, he still found himself missing having someone on hand to spend time with like he’d once had in Seireitei.

 

Resentment welled up in his chest as it always did when his thoughts lingered too long on Aizen and the way the Captain-Commander and Central 46 had thrown them away the moment evidence had been dumped in their laps and the accused had been thought to be too much trouble to keep around, sentenced to be put down like rabid dogs after decades of loyal service.  They hadn't even been given a chance to defend themselves.  It had been a classic example of guilty with no chance of being proven innocent.

 

“I’ll get your names cleared.”

 

Kisuke peered across the table from beneath the brim of his hat.  “Hmm?”

 

Ichigo looked back, blue eye hidden again but visible eye glinting with shrewd promise.  “I’ll get your names cleared.  The first time around, Shinji and the others entered the war on their own terms and Gramps kinda just granted them pardons because he needed them.  This time, even if you don’t want to go back to Seireitei to stay, I’ll make sure the option would be there if you ever wanted to.  You and Tessai-san and the Visored.”

 

Kisuke stared at the younger man, careful to keep his features blank.  Seconds later, he reached up and took off his hat, absently patting a trace of dust from the brim.

 

And then, wordlessly, he bowed his head in silent acknowledgement and unspoken gratitude, hat pressed briefly against his chest.

 

                Ichigo quirked a slight smile at him before reaching for his tea again, and Kisuke followed suit, returning his precious hat back to its perch.

 

                It really was a shame that Ichigo hadn't been alive a hundred years ago; Kisuke thought the time-traveler probably would’ve rained hell down on the ones who had prosecuted them.  Aizen wouldn't have stood a chance.

 

**XXVII.**

 

                “Uh-huh, everything’s been pretty boring down here.  I don’t even have a certain midget to pick on anymore.”

 

                Ichigo smothered a snicker when Rukia cursed him over the Denreishinki.  “Watch your language, Princess Midget.  Someone might think you really wanna kill me.”

 

                _“Ichigo, you bastard!  You’re lucky I'm stuck up here!”_

 

                Ichigo huffed a laugh.  Rukia was so easy to rile up at this age.  “Alright, alright, I'm sorry.  How are things then?  Doing normal Shinigami work?”

 

                _“Pretty much.  It’s life as usual.  My captain is feeling a bit under the weather again so my Division’s Third Seats have been running around even more lately.”_

 

                Ichigo snorted.  Sentarou and Kiyone had always been over the top when taking care of Juushirou, and in the end, it hadn't been the man’s sickness that had killed him anyway.  Which reminded Ichigo – he’d have to find some time to speak to Unohana.  The Shinigami were so disconnected from the Human World it wasn't funny.  Tuberculosis was something most people could be cured of these days.  Heck, his dad could prescribe the proper medications for the captain.

 

                “Ukitake Juushirou, right?”  Ichigo enquired out loud.  “Have you tried Human medicine?  I thought about it and he sounds like he has Tuberculosis.”

 

                _“Tuber- what?”_

 

                “Tuberculosis,” Ichigo corrected, gaze flickering towards the doorway when his dad ambled in, shrugging off his lab coat.  “It’s a disease that most people can be cured of these days.”

 

                _“Are you serious?!  Why didn't you say something earlier?”_

 

                Ichigo sighed.  “Never came up at the right time, I guess.  Anyway, just something you can pass on to one of your healers.”

 

                _“I’ll let Unohana-taichou know.  I’ll tell her I heard about it during my assignment in Karakura.  Thanks, Ichigo.”_

 

                Ichigo smiled faintly at the ceiling.  “No problem.  Hope it helps.”

 

                _“Aa, it would be nice to see Ukitake-taichou completely healed.  I- Renji!”_

 

                Ichigo frowned, memories of the red-haired lieutenant-turned-captain racing through his mind.  He stayed silent as he listened to the muffled voices on the other end.

 

                _“Sorry, Ichigo, I have to go,”_ Rukia told him in a hushed voice two minutes later.  _“I’ll talk to you later.”_

 

                Ichigo bit back his disappointment.  “Mm, take care.”

 

                He sighed once more as he hung up.  He missed it, missed grabbing meals between battles with Rukia and Renji, missed hiding out in Shunsui’s office when people tried to hunt him down to get him to do his paperwork, even missed (sort of) the spars Kenpachi and Grimmjow always demanded from him.

 

                On second thought, no he didn't.

 

                But hell, he missed Soul Society in general.  Karakura might be a spirit-enriched land and all but the spirit particles that flowed through Soul Society just made breathing in general easier.  Maybe he had spent too much time out of his body, but sometimes, the Human World simply felt stifling, almost like he had breathed in a lungful of exhaust that didn't quite want to leave his system completely.

 

                “Tuberculosis?”  His father interrupted his thoughts.  “I didn't think of that.”

 

                Ichigo glanced up at him.  “You weren’t a doctor when you were still living in Soul Society.”

 

                “True,” His dad agreed.  “By the way, who became my successor after I left?”

 

                Ichigo blinked.  “Uh, Toshirou did.  Hitsugaya Toshirou.  Rangiku-san is his lieutenant now.”

 

                His father grinned.  “So he made it after all.  He was my Third Seat.  I told him he’d make a good captain.”

 

                Ichigo hummed noncommittally, eyeing his dad critically as the man sat down beside him.  “What?”

 

                His father scratched the back of his head, a pensive smile on his face now.  “About Aizen – what exactly is your plan to deal with the guy?”

 

                Any humour left over from Ichigo’s conversation with Rukia drained faster than an unplugged sink.  “Aizen will come after the Hogyoku sooner or later.  He knows where Kisuke lives.  Since things didn't go according to his plan – I didn't gain Rukia’s powers and she doesn't have the Hogyoku inside her – he’s going to have to improvise.  Aizen’s prone to flashiness as well; he won’t want to stay in the background and continue playing kind captain in front of everyone so he’ll show his  hand to the rest of the Gotei 13 sooner rather than later.  Most likely, he’ll send a few of his Espada down here to retrieve the Hogyoku once he realizes that it won’t be taken up to Soul Society anytime soon.  At the same time, he’ll probably move on the other Shinigami by slaughtering Central 46 before taking Gin and Tousen with him to Las Noches.  Before that though, I plan on beating whichever Espada he sends and then opening a Garganta to Seiretei to stop him before he can leave.”

 

                Ichigo stopped, the plan now laid out in some detail.  He slanted a glance to the side.  His dad was staring at him with wide eyes.  “What now?”

 

                “How long have you been planning that?”  The man enquired.

 

                Ichigo frowned.  “In detail like that?  Just now.  I only had a rough idea before.”

 

                His father stared some more.  “You can think of something like that off the top of your head?”

 

                Ichigo scoffed, leaning back against the sofa.  “I know Aizen better than anyone when he isn’t completely batshit insane.  The Hogyoku corrupted him even more than he already was, so in the future, the bastard was just out to destroy everything so he could become a god.  Right now, he’s still following some line of logic.  That I can work with.”

 

                “Huh.  Not bad,” His dad grinned again and whipped out the pocket-sized portrait of Ichigo’s mother.  “MASAKI!  MY SON GROWS UP TO BE AN EXCELLENT STRATEGIST!  I’M SO PROUD!”

 

                Ichigo snorted and closed his eyes, tuning out his father’s dramatic declarations.  He’d devised a few tactics alongside Shunsui and Juushirou but he was more of an improvise kind of guy in the end.  Nothing ever went completely according to plan anyway.

 

                He opened his eyes again and frowned a little at the ceiling.  There was one thing that had been bothering him for a few weeks now.  In the other timeline, Aizen had shown him recordings of all of Ichigo’s battles, as well as some of his interactions throughout his life (just to show how creepy a stalker he was of course).

 

                But even shortly before Rukia had left, Ichigo hadn't spotted any camera flies in his vicinity; he had checked.

 

                Call him paranoid but something felt wrong.

 

                And in Ichigo’s experience, when something felt wrong, it usually meant that things would be going south very soon.

 

**XXVIII.**

 

                “And you're sure he ain’t lyin’?  ’Cause time-traveler’s pretty far out there, Kisuke.”

 

                _“I’m sure.  And I built the device that sent him back.  I know what I'm capable of with the proper motivation, and from what he’s told me, I had more than enough of that.”_

 

                Shinji sighed, twirling his hat with one finger as his gaze ran over his partly shell-shocked, partly skeptical dysfunctional family.  “Okay, then why’re ya tellin’ us?  Kid’s from a screwed-up future – I feel for him and all, but it’s got nothin’ ta do with us.”

 

                _“He’s going for Aizen-san,”_ Kisuke told them, and Shinji paused as everyone else zeroed in on the phone.  _“As soon as Aizen-san makes a move for the Hogyoku, Ichigo’s going after him.”_

 

                “Tch!  Aizen’s our kill!”  Hiyori blared from two seats over, sandaled feet propped up on a crate.

 

                “Shut up, Hiyori!”  Shinji barked out of reflex as he turned this information over.  “And what exactly do you want us ta do about it, Kisuke?  Storm Seireitei with him?  I owe Aizen as much as the next guy he’s screwed over, but I'm not riskin’ it all for a kid on a kamikaze run.”

 

                _“...You shouldn't call him a kid,”_ Shinji frowned at the heaviness in the shopkeeper’s voice.  That wasn't like Kisuke.  _“You can’t look at him and call him a kid.”_

 

Shinji’s eyes narrowed.  “Is he strong?  Can he control his Hollow?”

 

Kisuke actually chuckled at this.  “ _Well, I wouldn't say_ control _, but when it comes to his Inner Hollow, I believe he has you beat, Shinji.  So yes, he’s strong.  Even I can’t fight him without my Shikai, and that’s usually when his Zanpakutou are still sealed.”_

 

Shinji let his hat drop into his lap as the other Visored muttered their disbelief.  For a Human to get that strong in eleven years seemed unbelievable.  And better than him when it came to Hollowfication?  How the hell was that possible?

 

“...Kisuke,” Shinji said at last.  “Exactly how bad was this future?  You haven’t said anythin’ ’bout what happened.”

 

_“Bad.  He- Oh, Ichigo!  You’re early!”_

 

They all pulled up as a new voice, distant but still clear enough to pick up, sounded over the line.  Shinji leaned forward intently.  This was the time-travelling kid?  He sounded-

 

_“Yeah, had to get outta the house for a bit.  Goat-Face was being himself.  ...Did I come at a bad time?”_

 

Tired.

 

Not the pulled-an-all-nighter kind of tired.  More like the lie-down-and-not-wake-up-again kind, concealed under a deceptively light tone of voice.  It was barely noticeable, but Shinji liked to think he was perceptive enough to detect any hidden emotions, even over the phone.  He’d had enough practice poking holes in Aizen’s benevolent facade when the traitor had still been his lieutenant.

 

_“Not at all!  What makes you say that?”_

 

_“You’re... hiding a phone behind your back and hoping I didn't see it on my way in?”_

 

Shinji snorted, echoed by Hiyori and Kensei a second later.

 

 _“Good observation, Ichigo!  Well, I was just-”_ There was a rustle of fabric, and then, _“Maa, you did say I could tell some people about you.”_

 

_“...Is that Shinji and the others on the line?”_

 

Shinji raised an eyebrow at the familiarity.

 

_“Got it in one!  I was just about to tell them.”_

 

_“Hm.  I’ll wait downstairs then.”_

 

Shinji was reaching for the phone before he had thought it through.  “Kisuke, put the kid on.  I wanna talk ta him.”

 

Static crackled for a moment, a murmured word, and then, much clearer this time, _“Hello?”_

 

Neutral.  Wary.

 

“Hey, kid, I hear you’re from the future,” Shinji drawled, leaning back again and crossing his legs.

 

_“What of it?”_

 

Shinji grinned sharply, even though the teen wouldn't be able to see it.  “Convince me.”

 

A long silence.  _“You guys helped me with my Hollow.”_

 

Shinji scoffed.  “’Course we did; who else would ya go to?  Not good enough.”

 

Another stilted silence before a sigh snaked across the line.  _“Sixty-nine minutes and two seconds – Hiyori’s record.”_

 

Shinji’s eyebrows rose as he glanced at Hiyori.  The blonde was scowling fiercely at the phone but the disbelief was already fading.  Not even Kisuke knew that.

 

Kensei folded his arms and grunted an acknowledgement.  Lisa closed her eyes and returned to polishing her sword.  Hachi shrugged while Rose and Love exchanged glances before nodding.  Mashiro hopped up onto the back of the couch Kensei was sitting on, an inquisitive expression on her face as she looked at the phone.

 

“Heh,” Shinji tilted his head.  “And how long did you take?”

 

A hint of amusement finally seeped through the otherwise guarded voice.  _“Sixty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds.”_

 

Shinji grinned again, this time with good humour.  “That close ta killin’ ya then?”

 

A faint echo of what might have been laughter from anyone else.  _“Yeah.  I pulled through just in time.”_   A pause.  _“I’ll pass you back to Kisuke now.  See you around, Sh- Hirako-san.”_

 

_“Convinced yet?”_

 

“Yeah,” Shinji found himself frowning again.  “Ichigo, was it?  We were allies in the future?  He doesn't seem ta like me very much.”

 

_“He didn't seem to like me very much either when I first met him.  ...He doesn't like being back here, Shinji.”_

 

Shinji mulled this over, the reality of _time travelling_ (and jeez, only Kisuke would attempt such a thing) settling into his mind.  A twenty-six-year-old compared to the rest of them might as well be a baby, yet the kid had fought a war with them?  For _ten_ years?  That meant he’d been _sixteen_ when it had first started.  Whose bright idea had that been?  Shinji was fairly certain that wasn't even of age in the Human World.

 

“Start at the beginnin’,” Shinji instructed at last.  “Everythin’ he told ya; I wanna know.”

 

**XXIX.**

 

                Uryuu scowled when the arrows he fired were all deflected with ease, Kurosaki’s sword batting them away like mere annoyances.  Gritting his teeth, he leapt up to one of the rocks to gain higher ground and released another rain of arrows.

 

                He’d been the one to demand a spar from Kurosaki after his feet had subconsciously taken him to Urahara’s shop and Tessai had pointed him to the underground training area.  It had taken a full minute to scrape his jaw off the ground when he had found Kurosaki and Urahara crossing blades in a flurry of Shunpo, almost too fast for him to keep up as steel had rung against steel, echoing off the rocky landscape.

 

                And when they’d finished half an hour later, neither of them had seemed any worse for wear except being slightly out of breath.

 

                He’d bullied Kurosaki into agreeing into a spar immediately after.  He acknowledged that his classmate was stronger than he was by far but that would only help him grow stronger in the long run.

 

                “Don’t daydream, Ishida,” Kurosaki’s voice came from behind him and Uryuu whirled around, bow rising to take aim.

 

                He didn't even get off one shot before a wakizashi came plunging for his chest and he was forced to retreat once more, skidding through the air as Kurosaki advanced on him relentlessly.

 

                Uryuu’s original goal had been to get at least one strike against his classmate.  He’d changed that goal five minutes into their spar.  Now he just wanted Kurosaki to _draw his other blade_.

 

                 He fired off another three arrows before flashing into Kurosaki’s blind spot and trying to get an arrow in from the right.

 

                Half a heartbeat later, Uryuu was flat on the ground, his bow skittering out of his hands as the tip of Muramasa was levelled at his jugular.  Kurosaki smirked infuriatingly down at him as he wheezed for air.

 

                “I’m half-blind, Ishida,” Kurosaki reminded him.  “Do you really think I wouldn't train up my right side so I wouldn't fall for exactly what you did?  You would’ve had better luck trying to shoot me from the left.”

 

                Uryuu let his head fall back against the ground with a dull thud.  Damn.

 

                The wakizashi withdrew and a hand appeared in his line of sight.  “Come on.  That was pretty good, all things considered.”

 

                Uryuu scoffed at the compliment but accepted the hand up, dusting his clothes off as he got back onto his feet.

 

“I think you can give Ryuuken a run for his money,” He grumbled.  There was an idea.  Uryuu could admit he’d actually look forward to seeing whether or not Kurosaki could beat his father.

 

Kurosaki made a face.  Being twenty-six, the childish expression was somewhat at odds with his matured features.  “I’d rather not.  I don’t like fighting your dad.”

 

Uryuu glanced at him as they headed for the ladder.  “Why not?”

 

Kurosaki shrugged.  “Wouldn't feel comfortable with it, I suppose, unless he wanted to, which he doesn't.  Your old man helped protect my sisters several times.  And he’s your _dad_.”

 

Huh.  Well, Uryuu supposed that made sense in a convoluted, not-sure-why-but-have-to-respect -friends’-parents sort of way.  He wasn't sure he’d like to fight against Kurosaki’s father either if it wasn't for a training exercise or something.

 

They reached the ladder and Kurosaki climbed up first, Uryuu following a few seconds later.  Just as he was hoisting himself back onto ground level with sore arm muscles, he caught a whisper of hostile reiatsu and reacted by turning instinctively in the direction it was coming from.

 

In contrast, Kurosaki reacted so quickly that Uryuu later had to review it several times in his head to understand just how it had happened.

 

The door burst open and a figure hurtled inside, sandaled feet aimed directly at Kurosaki’s head.  Simultaneously, Kurosaki exploded into action, spinning around and planting himself in front of Uryuu, two flashes of silver and twin metallic hisses being the only warning anyone received that the time-traveller’s blades had been drawn.

 

A fraction of a second later, all Uryuu registered was the thump of the attacker hitting the ground face first and a yowl of indignant pain before everything came to a standstill.

 

“GET THE HELL OFF, YOU CRAZY STRAWBERRY!”

 

Uryuu stared at the group of newcomers scattered just inside the doorway.  The one who had just screeched at Kurosaki had blonde hair gathered up in pigtails and was currently pinned on the ground with her neck under Kurosaki’s foot.

 

At the same time, two others who had probably come in right after the girl were now being held at a sword point, the one on the left – afro, sunglasses, green jogging suit, and a frozen expression on his face – at the mercy of Kurosaki’s wakizashi while the one on the right – silvery-grey hair, piercings, and moderately better if only because he at least already had one hand on his sword – hovered a second away from being skewered by Kurosaki’s katana.  The hand had indeed made it to his sword, but if the newcomer so much as attempted to draw, Zangetsu would be in perfect position to take off the offending hand.

 

The rest were all crowded in the entrance, shock splashed across their features.  The only one who had made any move to retaliate was the girl wearing glasses who now pointed her own sword at Kurosaki’s chest, though it was clear to everyone involved that she wouldn't be able to cut Kurosaki down before he had taken out the three currently at his mercy in return.  As it was, Kurosaki didn't even seem to notice the blade threatening him as he stood unflinchingly in the middle of the room.

 

And, with the exception of the initial step in front of him, Uryuu hadn't even seen his classmate _move_.

 

“Ah, _shit_ ,” Kurosaki spoke first, and Uryuu just managed to catch the last traces of something dark and feral and endlessly cold in his gaze before it slipped away, and Uryuu was left wondering if he had even seen it in the first place.

 

The Zanpakutou were sheathed seconds later and Kurosaki hastily backed away from the girl on the ground, relieving the pressure on her neck before bending down into a crouch.  “Are you alright?”

 

In Uryuu’s opinion, the answer in the form of a sandaled foot swinging at Kurosaki’s head was rather uncalled for.  It wasn't very polite either.

 

Kurosaki seemed to expect it though because he only tilted his head to avoid the kick, and then shifted his weight to dodge an incoming fist before straightening to his full height and simply stepping out of range.

 

“Hiyori, that’s enough!”  A new voice cut through the tension, one with a distinct Kansai dialect layering it, even more so than the blonde girl’s.

 

Obviously the leader judging by the way the others parted for him, a slim man wearing a cap and a slight slouch in his frame stepped in through the doorway, nudging at the black-haired girl’s sword arm as he shouldered past her and came to a stop in front of Kurosaki.

 

“Yo,” The blond greeted in a laidback manner, but Uryuu noticed the intent look in his eyes.  “Sorry ’bout that.  Hiyori still hasn’t learned her manners.”

 

“You’re one to talk, Baldy!”  The girl, Hiyori, leapt to her feet at last.

 

“No, that was my fault,” Kurosaki smiled, brittle and awkward, and Uryuu suddenly wanted to drag Kurosaki out of there.  He was clearly uncomfortable in these people’s presence.  “I shouldn't have reacted like that.  I apologize.”

Kurosaki glanced again at Hiyori before including the other two he had almost stabbed as he scanned the room.  “Kisuke didn't say you were coming.”

 

“It was a surprise visit,” The blond said airily even as his gaze remained on Kurosaki’s face.  “’Cept no one answered the door so we thought we’d let ourselves in.”

 

“Kisuke’s visiting my old man,” Kurosaki continued stiffly.  “Tessai-san went out shopping with the kids.  They’ll all be back soon.”

 

Another silence ensued.  Uryuu sighed and cleared his throat.  Kurosaki turned to him with a pathetically grateful look on his face.

 

“Ah, I was just sparring with Ishida here,” The time-traveller jabbed a finger in Uryuu’s direction, and any other time, Uryuu would’ve reminded him that it was rude to point just to have something to snipe about.  “Ishida, these are the Visored.”

 

Uryuu’s eyebrows rose.  These were the Shinigami-Hollow hybrids?  Hm.  Well, with the exception of the girl who had attacked Kurosaki for seemingly no reason at all, they all seemed relatively normal.

 

He nodded civilly in their direction before glancing at Kurosaki.  “Are we leaving?  Ryuuken will have dinner waiting for us.”

 

Kurosaki blinked in confusion.  “He will?”

 

Uryuu glowered at him.  God, Kurosaki could be so dense sometimes.  “Yes, he will.”

 

Realization dawned on Kurosaki’s features.  “Oh, yeah, right.  We should get going.”

 

The blond still standing in front of Kurosaki wasn't the only one who looked dubious.  Uryuu didn't care – it was an excuse and it would get them out of there with minimal fuss.

 

“Excuse us,” Uryuu said shortly, deliberately bumping his shoulder against Kurosaki’s as he passed to get the idiot moving.

 

They managed to leave without anyone stopping them but the front door slid open and the owner of the shop stepped inside as they trekked out of the back room.

 

                “Oh?”  If Urahara was surprised by the extra additions in his home, he didn't show it.  “Are you not staying for dinner, Ichigo?  Ururu will be disappointed.”

 

                Kurosaki rubbed the back of his head even as he made his way over to the body he had temporarily discarded for their earlier spar.  “Uh, Ishida’s dad has dinner waiting for us.  Tell Ururu another time, okay?”

 

                Urahara tapped his fan against his chin but acquiesced without protest, waving them out the door as his gaze slid over to where the Visored were gathered.

 

                Uryuu couldn't care less.  Getting away from the Shinigami was always a good thing in his book.

 

                He glanced sidelong at Kurosaki, now a fifteen-year-old with both eyes brown once again.  And he had just gotten used to the blue one too.  It, along with the fact that Kurosaki’s soul was an adult, had unnerved him a little at the beginning but Uryuu had learned to ignore it in the end.

 

                “Thanks for that,” Kurosaki said as they came to an intersection where they would have to part.

 

                Uryuu adjusted his glasses and glanced away.  “Hmph, I told you, I don’t like Shinigami.  I hardly think it fair to leave you alone with them.”

 

                Kurosaki arched an eyebrow but didn't push the issue.  “See ya tomorrow, Ishida.”

 

                Uryuu returned the parting with a curt nod and headed home.  Even at twenty-six, Kurosaki was troublesome.

 

**XXX.**

 

                Ichigo lied in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as a night breeze drifted in from the open window.  All three of his spirits had chosen to materialize tonight – Muramasa was curled up against his right thigh and dozing lightly, Shiro was sprawled gracelessly on the ground on his stomach and reading a magazine, and Zangetsu was lounging elegantly on top of the desk, back against the wall as he watched the moon outside and enjoyed a bottle of sake that Ichigo had smuggled up.

 

                Ichigo was glad for their company.  He was so in tune with them now that he could always feel them in his inner world even when he didn't concentrate but it was nice to have them physically near at times.

 

Like right now.

 

He had botched it today.  He hadn't expected anyone in the shop, and Kisuke would never approach him with hostility, so the aggression that Hiyori had radiated earlier had taken over his senses and overrode the common sense that clearly recognized her reiatsu.  He had reacted on instinct – a threat had come at him and Uryuu had been defenceless so Ichigo had struck.

 

And he had almost taken off Love and Kensei’s heads and snapped Hiyori’s neck as a result.  He had forgotten that he wasn't on the battlefield anymore and that Hiyori’s surprise attacks were run of the mill occurrences.

 

And then Shinji had arrived and Ichigo had barely been able to look at him without his memories rushing forward and replacing the Cheshire grin and laidback posture with a bloodied chest wound and half the man’s face _gone_.  Shinji had died a brutal death, and the worst part of it was the fact that the Visored leader had died saving Ichigo.

 

Ichigo drew in a deep breath and shoved away those images.  The Visored had taken him off-guard today, which was the only reason he had been overwhelmed by his memories.  He could usually keep a tight lid on them.  He did with his sisters and his father, Uryuu and Ryuuken, Rukia and everyone at the shop.  Things would go a bit smoother when he saw them again.

 

Or when he saw one of them now.

 

A gust of wind, more abrupt and less natural than the soft breeze thus far, washed over him from the window.

 

Ichigo sighed through his nose but shifted his arm and blinked up at the figure perched on his windowsill and blocking the moonlight.  He glanced down to where Muramasa, still lazing on his side with his head cushioned on Ichigo’s leg, had also manifested his sword and was now aiming it at their late-night visitor.

 

Ichigo jostled his leg.  “Cut it out.  What would you do with that anyway?”

 

Muramasa looked faintly grumpy but his sword disappeared and he closed his eyes again.

 

Ichigo heaved another sigh and flipped a hand at the blond watching them attentively.  “C’mon in.  Zangetsu doesn't like it when people interrupt his moon-watching.”

 

Shinji flicked a glance at where Zangetsu was staring blandly at him before hopping over Ichigo’s bed and landing on the floor instead, his gaze instantly drawn to Ichigo’s white mirror image this time.  “Well ain’t this cozy.”

 

Shiro glanced up, yellow and black taking Shinji in before flipping him off the next second.  “Screw off, Kitty.  Can’t ya see I'm readin’ here?”

 

Shinji’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he finally turned his focus on Ichigo.  “‘Kitty’?”

 

Ichigo had to stifle a smirk despite the situation.  “Like the Cheshire Cat.  You smile like one half the time so Shiro calls you Kitty.”

 

Shinji snorted.  “I would’ve thought Yoruichi would fit that more.”

 

“He means it as an insult,” Ichigo explained.  “Yoruichi-san actually likes being a cat.”

 

A smile quirked at one corner of Shinji’s mouth.  “I see.  Well, Kitty’s not so bad comin’ from a Hollow.”

 

“I could come up with a lot worse, Kitty,” Shiro warned.  “Now shut up.  If ya wanna talk ta Aibou, keep it down.  Upset ’im and I’ll gut ya.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes this time as Shinji took on a bemused look.  “Ignore him.  Here – sit.  What can I do for you, Hirako-san?”

 

Shinji straddled the chair Ichigo had gestured at but scoffed at him in the process.  “Just Shinji’s fine.  It even sounds awkward when ya tack on an honorific.”

 

“Shinji then,” Ichigo nodded cautiously, pushing himself up into a sitting position.  “Do you have... questions?”

 

“A few,” Shinji propped his head in one hand.  “Don’t look so strung out.  I'm not here ta interrogate ya about that other future.”

 

Ichigo blinked.  “You’re not?”

 

Shinji was no longer smiling even as he waved a casual hand in the air.  “Don’t think ya need the added stress, ’specially if you're plannin’ on tellin’ the Captain-Commander and some of the other Shinigami.  The old man ain’t gonna let ya go with just an everythin’-went-to-hell-the-end explanation.  He’ll want details.”

 

Ichigo grimaced.  He knew that all too well.  “Then why are you here?”

 

Shinji inclined his head at Shiro.  “Heard from Kisuke that ya got along with your Hollow.  Had ta see if it was true.”

 

Sharp eyes darted between Ichigo and Shiro.  “How’d ya do it?  We’re in touch with our Hollows, but if we ever let our control slip, they’ll start tryin’ ta take over.”

 

“’Course they do,” Shiro interjected, looking up from his magazine.  “Ya beat them inta submission yet you expect them ta play nice?  How does that work in any world?”

 

Shinji wheeled around to peer down at the Hollow.  “What do ya mean?  The moment we slip, they try ta take control.  It’s been like that since the beginning.  There’s nothin’ ya can say ta make me believe you and Ichigo here became best friends at first sight.”

 

“We weren’t,” Ichigo said at the same time Shiro snorted, “Hell no!”

 

Shinji’s mouth twitched into a wry grin.  “So then?  You fought it out too, right?”

 

“At the beginning,” Ichigo admitted.  “It... wasn't pretty.  We fought at practically every turn.  But we had one thing in common – we both wanted to live.  We talked between our fights, and we agreed that we were stronger together even though Shiro was a bastard wanting to kill someone every time I turned around-”

 

“-and you were a little weakling with all the self-preservation instincts of a retarded lemming!”  Shiro retorted caustically.  Ichigo glared at him.

 

They both stopped when a quiet snicker sounded.

 

“What?”  Ichigo scowled irritably at the wide grin on Shinji’s face.

 

“Nothin’,” The grin on the blond’s face softened a degree.  “Ya know, Kisuke thinks ya might’ve lost that.”

 

Ichigo stared blankly at him.  “Lost what?”

 

Shinji motioned in his general direction.  “Fire.  Will.  Life.  Whatever.  Good ta see ya haven’t; that it’s still there under everythin’.  I’d hate ta follow a suicide case into battle.”

 

Ichigo stilled.  Beside him, Muramasa stirred and lifted his head.  On the desk, Zangetsu took a calm sip of sake but he was no longer staring at the moon.  Still on the ground, Shiro was wearing one of his rare, somber expressions.

 

“No,” Ichigo finally forced out.  “You can’t.”

 

Shinji arched an eyebrow.  “Ya know me, that’s clear enough, so you should know that I’ve wanted ta hand Aizen his ass for a century now.  Me and the others.  I understand ya wanna get him yourself – fine, but ya ain’t takin’ him down alone.”

 

Ichigo glared darkly at him.  “He’s dangerous, Shinji.”

 

Shinji scoffed.  “Who do ya think you're talkin’ to?”

 

Ichigo eyed him for a long moment.  “I wasn't there the first time you crossed blades with Aizen after the war started but you told me later that he figured out Sakanade in five minutes flat and learned to counter it within that time.  Your Shikai was useless after that.”

 

Shinji froze, obviously thrown.  “...Sakanade creates an inverted world.  He shouldn't be able ta-”

 

“Kyouka Suigetsu is stronger,” Ichigo said flatly.  “Once he got used to Sakanade’s ability, it wasn't a problem for him anymore.  After that, during the handful of times you had to fight Aizen again, you had to use your Bankai to do any damage at all.”

 

Shinji’s mouth was a thin slash on his face now, clearly displeased by this revelation.  “Then I guess I’ll just have ta use Bankai.  You're not talkin’ me or any of the others out of this, Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo gritted his teeth and told himself that losing his temper wouldn't help anyone.  Shinji’s features softened imperceptibly again.

 

“Ya don’t have ta go at it alone, ya know,” The blond said almost offhandedly.  “Just ’cause you're the only one who came back doesn't mean ya can’t ask for help.”

 

Ichigo glanced away, scrubbing a weary hand over his face.

 

Typical Shinji.  For all the comical bullshit he pulled and the carefree temperament he portrayed, it didn't change the fact that the blond had the instinctive tendency to look after the people around him.  It was why even the other former captains-turned-Visored looked to him as their leader.  Kensei, Love, and Rose had all been powerful Shinigami and capable captains in their own right – they didn't _have_ to follow Shinji even when they had decided to stay together as a group, yet all of them had chosen to defer to him for the final say in matters.

 

“I know that,” Ichigo said at last, looking back at his guest.  “But for me, this is ten years in the past.  Aizen is nowhere near as strong as he was- will be- _would be_ if he fuses with the Hogyoku.  I can take him now, kill him before he hurts anyone, before he tortures them or experiments on them so no one will have to-”

 

His throat closed involuntarily and he couldn't continue if he didn't want his voice to crack.  His jaw tightened.  He was twenty-six years old, he’d live through a ten-year-long war, and he was one of the most powerful beings to ever step foot in both the Human and Spiritual World – he had to get a grip.  His emotions were all over the place today.  It probably didn't help that he had barely slept ever since coming back, or much at all for years now if he was being honest.  Sleeping deeply was never a good idea when your base was on the battlefield, no matter how well-protected it was.

 

“What’s wrong with your neck?”

 

Ichigo’s gaze flew back up and he jerked his hand back down when he realized his fingers had been hovering at his throat again.  “Nothing.”

 

Too shrewd eyes studied him, but thankfully, Shinji didn't push.

 

“Well, we’ll just agree ta disagree,” Shinji suggested brightly instead, distracting Ichigo from the darker turn his thoughts had taken.  “Ya don’t want us ta fight; we’re fightin’ anyway – deal with it.  Now, tell me more about you and your Hollow.”

 

For a moment, Ichigo seriously considered dragging Shinji back to Kisuke’s shop and showing the man just how strong he was when he had _both_ Bankai activated by kicking the former captain’s ass to kingdom come, and then drive the point home by revealing the fact that Aizen had been an equal match for it in his future.

 

And then he sighed because that was more trouble than it was worth.  Worst case scenario, he could open up a Garganta and then close it again before any of them could follow him.  It would take several days for Kisuke to make one himself.

 

“Like I said, we talked things out,” Ichigo said, exchanging a glance with Shiro who was flipping through his magazine again.  “I went into my inner world and brought him into it instead of locking him away.  We fought like hell and talked in between.  Everybody is different.  Mashiro got through to her Hollow within a week.  Hiyori took longest.  Couldn't get it for five months.  Every time she drew her Hollow into her inner world, they’d just fight and trade insults.”

 

Shinji shook his head sardonically.  “Of course they did; wouldn't expect anythin’ else.  What about on the outside?  Does Hachi have ta set up barriers?”

 

Ichigo cocked his head.  “We did that, just in case, but it wasn't really necessary for most of you.  It’s like meditating – you know, like what you’d do when you’re communicating with your Zanpakutou, except it’s with your Hollow instead.  You’re trying to connect with the Hollow, not lock it away.  Although Hiyori did cause quite a bit of damage on the outside.  Her Hollow wouldn't listen at first.”

 

Ichigo paused, brow creasing as he struggled to put the entire process in words.  “Our Inner Hollows are the darkest part of ourselves, and to make sure they don’t take control, we have to accept that part.  But working with them is different.  You can’t just accept that they’re there and then tuck them away in some dark corner of your soul.  You have to accept them and trust them to work alongside you, not _for_ you.  You can’t lock them away and only take them out when you need them.  That’s only a step above pretending they don’t exist.”

 

“It’s cheesy enough to make me gag but the whole thing’s basically ’bout trust,” Shiro drawled from the ground, rolling over onto his back.  “Aibou gave up some control to me so I didn't take it a step further and try ta tear the rest away from him.  We’re balanced now, and that makes us more powerful than we would be when we’re fightin’ each other.  I trust him ta watch my back, and in return, I fuck up whoever tries ta kill ’im when he has his guard down.  Trust - s’all it takes.”

 

Shinji was silent for a long moment, absorbing everything with calculating eyes.  “...Never thought about it like that.  I’ll pass it on ta the others.”

 

“You’re going to try?”  Ichigo asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Shinji grinned.  “Of course.  Can’t have the baby of our group outstrip us this early.”

 

Ichigo blinked in bewilderment, and then spluttered when Shinji raised a meaningful eyebrow at him and he understood.  “Who the hell are you calling a baby?!”

 

Shinji smirked and rose fluidly to his feet.  “You’re a Visored so you’re one of us, but you’re also the youngest, so – baby.  G’night, Ichigo.  Nice meetin’ ya.”

 

And before Ichigo could do more than scowl half-heartedly at the former captain, Shinji had jumped back onto the windowsill and disappeared into the night.

 

Ichigo huffed and flopped back onto his bed.  “Bastard.”

 

Shiro cackled.  “Hirako’s always been like that.  Ya should be used to it by now.”

 

Ichigo sighed and closed his eyes.  “...They’re not coming with us.”

 

“And you’re gonna stop ’em by...?”

 

Ichigo frowned.  “I can always knock them out and tie them up before I leave.”

 

“Oh that’s gonna go over well.”

 

“Perhaps you could ask for their assistance in holding back the Hollows,” Zangetsu’s soothing timbre filled the room.  “I highly doubt Aizen Sousuke would refrain from displaying a portion of his strength to the Gotei 13.  He will call some of the Hollows at his command as he did before.”

 

“Yes, and while they’re busy with that, we can handle Aizen,” Muramasa agreed, eyes flashing with barely restrained, ominous anticipation.

 

Ichigo smiled grimly.  All of them were looking forward to Aizen’s downfall.

 

He glanced to the side when Shiro sniggered.  “What?”

 

“He called ya a baby,” Shiro pointed out gleefully.  “I totally ain’t gonna let ya live that down, Aibou.  Grown-ass man gone through a war and still slapped with the title of infant-”

 

Ichigo chucked a rolled up sock at his Hollow, ignoring the fact that Muramasa was smiling and even Zangetsu had an amused glint in his eyes.

 

In a way, it came as a relief that Shinji didn't treat him like cracked glass.  He knew his old man and Kisuke were simply looking out for him but, bar the former’s melodramatic episodes with Ichigo’s mother’s portrait and the latter’s spars with him, they had both taken to keeping a subtle eye on him as if they thought Ichigo was going to fall apart the moment they looked away.

 

Shinji at least treated him pretty much exactly how the future Shinji had treated him – one of the Visored, an ally, a friend – and gave a few pieces of advice in his usual straightforward manner when the man had thought Ichigo had needed it.  In return, the ex-captain had also questioned Ichigo about their Inner Hollows and mocked him with a ridiculous nickname to boot.  Shinji hadn't looked at Ichigo as if he thought Ichigo was on the verge of a breakdown, even when he had faltered earlier on the topic of Aizen’s future actions.

 

Ichigo sighed wistfully.  Shinji had always been dependable until the very end.

 

“Ichigo, get some sleep,” Zangetsu had finally finished his sake and now stepped back onto flat ground, body already disappearing as he prepared to return to Ichigo’s inner world.  “It’s late.”

 

Ichigo nodded silently, watching as Muramasa glowed purple before fading away and Shiro stretched languidly before doing the same.  They thrummed warmly in the depths of his soul though.

 

In that, Shinji wasn't entirely correct.  So long as he had them, he wouldn't ever be alone, even if it was manifestations of his own soul that kept him company.

 

**XXXI.**

 

Ichigo all but threw himself out of bed when his senses roared a warning at him, leaping out of his body in the blink of an eye.

 

Hollows.  But not here.  At Kisuke’s.  But-

 

“That’s impossible,” He whispered feverishly as he tore through his window, dashing over the rooftops at top speed as he felt the distinct reiatsu signatures winking in and out of existence.  “He hasn’t made them yet.  He _can’t_ make them yet.  _That’s impossible_.”

 

The last traces of the unique darkness that Ichigo had long since come to associate with Aizen’s Neo Hollows disappeared just as he barged through the front door.

 

“Kisuke!”  He shouted as Muramasa, Zangetsu, Shiro materialized beside him.  “Spread out; search every room.  Shinji!  Tessai-san!  Ururu!  Jinta!”

 

“Ichigo-san?”

 

Next moment, Ichigo had a sobbing girl in his arms, her hands coming up to clutch at his Shihakushou as he scooped her up.  “Ururu?  What happened?  Where is everyone?”

 

“They took them!”  Jinta scrambled out as well, and Ichigo realized that they had been hiding in the fireplace.  “Urahara-san told us to hide when those white things- they looked like Hollows but they were _our_ size – and they started popping in, but nobody could fight them cuz they just kept transporting!  They- They just grabbed Urahara-san and Tessai-san and- and everyone else and _took_ them!”

 

Ichigo nailed a calm mask onto his face even as his heart thudded with dawning realization and growing horror.  Crouching down, he spread his arm to the side and waited as Jinta, shoulders shaking, stood trembling in place for a second longer before hurtling forward as well.  The boy didn't cry but his grip was just as tight as Ururu’s.

 

“It’s gonna be alright,” Ichigo’s voice was like steel, unyielding and adamant as he stood up with both children in his arms.  “I'm going to get them back safe and sound, I promise.”

 

“Ichigo,” Muramasa appeared, eyes burning with murder.  “You have to come see this.”

 

Ichigo hurried into one of the back rooms, pulling up short when he found Zangetsu and Shiro standing guard with swords drawn over a very familiar, bone white, three-horned Hollow about the size of Ururu and Jinta, and currently writhing against the floorboards, mouth open in a soundless scream as it thrashed against the blade pinning its throat to the ground.

 

Benihime.

 

“The shopkeeper must have left it here as a clue for us,” Zangetsu’s katana pressed against the Hollow’s already bloodied throat.

 

“Not that we need it!”  Shiro snarled.  “Fuck, what the hell’s goin’ on?!  These Hollows can only be made with the Hogyoku!  If this was an experiment gone wrong, I’ll fucking rip Urahara apart!”

 

“Be quiet, Shiro,” Ichigo said sharply when Ururu started crying even harder.  “It’s not Kisuke.  The Hogyoku has to be fused with a living being, and Kisuke would never do something like that.”

 

“Then what the fu-” Shiro cut himself off as he grimaced at the children.  “What’s goin’ on?  What does this mean?”

 

“It means Kisuke’s time travel device didn't just send me back,” Ichigo said flatly.  “It also sent Aizen back.”

 

Shiro’s eyes widened.  Zangetsu’s jaw tightened.  Muramasa took two steps forward, summoned his blade, and beheaded the Hollow with one swing.

 

“I wanted to do that!”  Shiro spat out, but it was distracted at best.

 

Ichigo watched as the Hollow dissipated, leaving only Benihime behind.  He had told Kisuke the strengths and weaknesses of all the Neo Hollows Aizen had created in his future, including this one.

 

The Teleporting Hollow could appear and disappear instantaneously, jumping from the Living World or Soul Society or Hueco Mundo to the inside of a Garganta without needing to open an actual portal.  Their only weak point was their throats; Tels were unable to jump away if their throats were wounded in any way.  Decapitation was the only thing that would kill them.

 

“What do we do now, Ichigo?”  Muramasa prompted, voice dangerously soft.

 

Ichigo closed his eyes for two seconds, taking a deep breath and bracing himself before opening them again.  “Alright, we’re going to assume we’ll be going up against the Aizen from our future.  But if he’s taken the time to capture everyone here instead of killing them, we can also assume that he probably doesn't want to kill them right away.  No use killing anyone if they don’t know what they’re being killed for.  He’ll probably spew his plans to them and gloat before he does anything.

 

“So first thing’s first – we get everyone to Ji-san’s place.  They have a secret training area there to hide out in, and Aizen never did take much interest in where Uryuu lived.  Let’s go.”

 

They left, Zangetsu pausing only long enough to wrench Benihime out of the floorboards and tucking it into his coat.

 

“Oyaji!”  Ichigo hollered as he all but ripped his bedroom door open.  Half a second later, his father burst out of his own bedroom, eyes alert enough to tell Ichigo that the man had already been awake.

 

“Wake the girls, don’t bother packing,” Ichigo ordered, setting Jinta and Ururu down on his bed.  “We’re leaving in two minutes for Ji-san’s place.”

 

“What’s going on?”  His dad’s tone was brisk even as he headed for Karin and Yuzu’s bedroom door.

 

Ichigo caught the phone that Shiro tossed at him.  “I wasn't the only one that came back.  Aizen somehow got caught up in the device Kisuke built as well.  The shop’s empty – Kisuke and the others have been abducted.”

 

His father stared in horror for all of two seconds before his expression closed and he hurried into the twins’ room.  Ichigo could hear Karin’s sleepy voice asking what was going on.

 

_“Ishida.”_

 

Ichigo didn't waste time on pleasantries when Ryuuken picked up on the third ring.  “Ji-san, it’s Ichigo.  I need you to put up a few people for a while over at your place.  Aizen was transported back in time as well and he’s taken Kisuke and the others.  He doesn't know about the training area at your place though.  Can you expect us in five minutes?”

 

To his credit, Ryuuken didn't miss a beat, not even when Ichigo belatedly realized he probably shouldn't have called Ryuuken ‘Ji-san’.  _“Five minutes.  I’ll be at the door.”_

 

The doctor hung up without fanfare, and Ichigo did the same just as Karin and Yuzu stumbled out, rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they pulled on their coats.

 

“Onii-chan?”  The frightened expression on Yuzu’s face made Ichigo feel just a bit like scum, especially since it grew when she couldn't see him.  “What’s going on?  Where’s Onii-chan?”

 

“It’s ghost business,” Karin said, voice wavering only a little as she glanced wide-eyed at Ichigo before grabbing Yuzu’s hand.  “Something dangerous has happened, but it’s okay, Yuzu, Ichi-nii will take care of it.”

 

Frankly, Ichigo had no idea where his sisters had found so much faith in him but all he could do was motion for their father to get a move on.

 

“You two, go with my dad,” Ichigo instructed the two sitting on his bed.  They’d composed themselves and Ururu was only sniffling slightly as they did as they were told.

 

Reiatsu signatures popped into existence outside the house and Ichigo nodded tersely at his Zanpakutou and Hollow.  “Kill them all.  Leave none alive.”

 

Shiro’s grin was menacing as he flung himself out the window, Zangetsu and Muramasa at his heels.

 

His phone rang as the rest of his family disappeared downstairs and he hastily answered it.  “Yeah?”

 

 _“Kurosaki!”_   Uryuu’s voice was sharp with urgency.  _“I kind of get the gist of what’s happening.  What about the other two?  Sado-san and Inoue-san?  Will Aizen go for them?”_

 

Ichigo froze, and then mentally cursed himself.  Just because he hadn't dragged them into his latest Shinigami ventures lately didn't mean Aizen would stay away.  “I’m going to get them now, but I won’t have time to stick around to explain things to them.”

 

_“I’ll do it.  ...You’re heading for Soul Society right after this?”_

 

“It should be where Aizen is right now.  I'd be surprised if he hasn’t taken over the city already,” Ichigo paused.  “You can’t come with me, Uryuu.”

 

_“...I know that; I’m too- I'm not strong enough at the moment.  I’ll stay here, keep an eye on your sisters.”_

 

Ichigo smiled.  “Thanks.”

 

_“Just make sure you come back in one piece, Kurosaki.  I’d hate to have to find a new sparring partner.”_

 

Ichigo shook his head as he put his phone down.  Classic Uryuu.

 

“Zangetsu,” He called, shunpoing outside with his body slung over one shoulder and cutting three Hollows down when Muramasa materialized in his hand.  His first Zanpakutou appeared beside him, coolly dispatching two more.

 

“I need you to go to Chad’s place and get him to Ji-san’s,” Ichigo whirled and beheaded another four.  “I'm heading over to Orihime’s.  I’ll meet you back at Kisuke’s in ten minutes.”

 

Zangetsu nodded curtly and disappeared in a swirl of black.

 

“Shiro!”  Ichigo cut a swath through the Hollows as he headed in the direction of Orihime’s house.  “Cover my family.  Once you’ve seen them safely to Ji-san’s, head over to Kisuke’s!”

 

“Ya got it, Aibou!”

 

“Muramasa,” Ichigo handed his empty body to the Zanpakutou when he solidified.  “Get this to Kisuke’s.  Orihime will freak if I show up carrying that.”

 

Muramasa nodded once and took off in the direction of the shop at top speed, no doubt wanting to rejoin the battle to let loose some steam.

 

                As Ichigo shunpoed towards Orihime’s house, he glanced up at the grey skies above.

 

                Whatever it took, he’d see an end to Aizen, once and for all.

 

                Whatever it took.

 

**Please leave a review on your way out.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Bleach.
> 
> Author’s Notes: Definitely planned to stick Muramasa into this from the beginning:)  
> And since I’ve made it so that Tatsuki, Keigo, and Mizuiro didn't fight in the war, they’ll be kept out of this fic for the most part.

**XXXII.**

 

**[One Day Ago; Shiba Household]**

 

                “Yoruichi, don’t ya think it’s time for you to go home?”

 

                “So impatient to kick me out, Kukaku?  We haven’t seen each other in ages.”

 

                Kukaku heaved a sigh, nudging the woman lazing on the porch with one foot.  “You've been here for three weeks, and I bet you were wanderin’ around before ya came here.  Urahara must be wonderin’ where you are.”

 

                “He’ll manage without me,” Yoruichi waved a dismissive hand.  “I’m not his keeper, you know.”

 

                “No, he’s yours,” Kukaku retorted with annoyance.  “You really should be more responsible, Yoruichi.”

 

                “Ah, I'm not a captain anymore.  I can do whatever,” Yoruichi yawned, blinking blearily up at the sky before reaching for the sake.  “How do you think Soifon is doing?  She’s probably keeping the Second Division on their toes.  I expect nothing less from her!”

 

                Kukaku sighed again and left her to her rambling.  Sometimes, she had no idea how she put up with Yoruichi even though she considered the woman one of her closest friends, and she didn't even have to deal with the ex-captain all the time.  Heavens only knew how Urahara did it.

 

                “Nee-san, I'm heading out to do the shopping.  Is Yoruichi-san staying for another day?”

 

                Kukaku tossed a resigned look over her shoulder before focusing on her brother.  “Best just to prepare for another week.  You know what she’s like when she gets in a nostalgic mood.”

 

                “Eating us out of house and home,” Ganju muttered, and while Kukaku privately agreed, she still delivered a kick to the idiot’s face that sent him careening out the front door.

 

                “Get goin’ or you can give your dinner to Yoruichi tonight!”  She yelled after him before stomping off.  It wasn't often that Yoruichi came and sulked (yes, she was sulking) around for a few weeks so Kukaku always tried to be understanding.  The woman had been, for the most part, forced to leave her home; she didn't blame Yoruichi for wanting to linger as close to Seireitei as possible sometimes.

 

                Kukaku was just sitting down in her room when a foreign reiatsu signature sent her to her feet again and reaching for her sword.

 

                Whatever it was had entered her home.

 

                She barged out into the hall, almost crashing into Ganju as her brother barrelled towards her.

 

                “NEE-SAN!”  Ganju bellowed.  “RUN!  There’s a whole bunch of-”

 

                Something the size of a child but distinctly Hollow-like popped into existence behind him, and before Kukaku could blink, the thing had disappeared again, taking Ganju with it.

 

                “GANJU!”  Kukaku yelled, and then swung around and cut another intruder in half, only to leap back when the thing simply reformed.  “The hell?!  Yoruichi!  Are you still there?  Shit!”

 

                She ducked and swung again, slicing another Hollow’s arm off.  Again, it reattached itself, and as more and more of them teleported into the hallway, Kukaku backed away until her back hit the wall.

 

                She gritted her teeth.  If the things wouldn't die, there was no way she was getting out of this, and there was very little chance that Yoruichi had escaped if the things were flooding the house en masse.

 

                “Tch,” Kukaku tightened her hold on her katana.  If she was going to be taken to who-knew-where, she wasn't leaving her weapon behind.

 

                And then one of the Hollows touched her, and all she saw was black.

 

**[One Day Ago; Thirteenth Division]**

 

                “It is largely thanks to one of your officers that I have discovered this treatment.”

 

                Juushirou glanced up from the notes Retsu had given him on a cure for his illness.  A part of him still couldn't believe it.  “Who was it?  And why did they not come to me?”

 

                Retsu smiled serenely at him.  “It was Kuchiki Rukia.  She told me she stumbled upon a possible cure during her assignment in Karakura Town.”

 

                Juushirou stilled, and then sighed wearily.  He hadn't seen much of Rukia lately, a lot less than he had before Kaien had died.  The girl had been Kaien’s protégé, but she had pulled away after his death, and it didn't help that Byakuya had gone out of his way to make sure Rukia was never promoted to a seated position, even though she was more than ready in Juushirou’s opinion.  He understood that the Clan Head was simply trying to protect Rukia but she wasn't going to gain any real experience if she was held back like this.

 

                “I will have to thank her,” Juushirou said out loud, gaze falling to the notes again.  “To think that the Human World had such a thing.  We really should keep up with the times.  Humans advance so fast.”

 

                He paused as something occurred to him, thinking back to the past few weeks.

 

                “Juushirou?”  Retsu prompted, obviously picking up on his sudden shift in mood.  “Is something wrong?”

 

                “Ah, it’s probably nothing, Retsu-san,” Juushirou smiled distractedly as he glanced out the nearby window.  “I was laid out on my back again a few weeks ago but now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Kuchiki since she reported in from her mission to Karakura.”

 

                Retsu tilted her head thoughtfully.  “It is not so rare for an unseated officer to go unnoticed for a while.  She could be busy with other things.”

 

                “Yes, I suppose so,” Juushirou agreed.  “I’ll go find her after-”

 

                He stopped, hand automatically dropping to his Zanpakutou when the air seemed to ripple a few feet away and a white creature blinked into existence.  Across from him, Retsu did the same, a slight frown creasing her brow.

 

                “What... is that?”  Juushirou rose to his feet and warily backed up a step.  “Is it a Hollow?”

 

                “I have never seen one like it,” Retsu had also stood up, stepping away from the table.  “Perhaps it escaped from the Twelfth?”

 

                Before Juushirou could voice his own opinion, the door slammed open and Sentarou burst in, panic clear on his face.  “Taichou!  We’re being invaded!  Kiyone-!”

 

                Three of the same white creatures appeared behind Sentarou and all four were gone in the next second.

 

                “Sentarou!”  Juushirou drew his blade in a flash, whirling away just as the Hollow in the room disappeared and reappeared behind him.  A heartbeat later, Retsu had swept forward and sliced the creature in half, separating its upper body from the waist.

 

                Unfortunately, the Hollow reformed almost instantly, and Juushirou had no choice but to back away with Retsu as the room began to fill with more of the foreign creatures.

 

                “I retract my previous speculation,” Retsu looked as calm as ever even in the face of the growing mass of white.  However, her gaze had taken on the terrifying shadowed cast that sent fear into the hearts of men and monsters alike.  “It would be most unfortunate for Kurotsuchi-taichou if these creatures did indeed come from the Twelfth.”

 

                If Juushirou wasn't busy frowning at the three Hollows he had just slashed at as they restructured themselves, he would’ve spared a sympathetic thought for Kurotsuchi.

 

                As it was, he could only hope that the other captains hadn't been caught off-guard like they had and would form some sort of plan to counteract these things.

 

                And then there was no more time for thought as the Hollows swarmed them and Juushirou knew no more.

 

**[One Day Ago; Twelfth Division]**

 

                “Their heads, Nemu,” Mayuri ordered as he decapitated three more of the invading force.  “Beheading them is the only way to kill them.  Do be sure to leave a few alive though.  I would love to study them in detail.”

                _Of course_ , Mayuri thought in a rare moment of grim sobriety as he eyed the entrance of his lab where a growing throng of white crowded the doorway.  _That would only be if we make it out of this without being overwhelmed._

 

                “Taichou-”

 

                His gaze darted to the side just as one of the Hollow-like creatures broke past Nemu’s defence and clamped down on her shoulder.  A moment later, both were gone.

 

                Mayuri took down another five in a fit of irritation, ignoring the tiny spark of concern that came along with it.  It was so hard to find good help these days.  Nemu had been satisfactory.

 

                “Rip, Ashisogi Jizou,” Mayuri snapped, and then tore eight Hollows apart with the curved blades.

 

                Two minutes later, his back hit one of the supporting beams in the lab, and he only had time to curse his luck before the creatures descended on him like a tidal wave.

 

**[One Day Ago; Eleventh Division]**

 

                “Taichou!  There’s no end to them!”

 

                For once, Kenpachi wasn't enjoying a fight.  Stabbing at an enemy was hardly satisfying when they simply popped back up a second later.

 

                Plus, the things invading his Division had taken Yachiru, which was frankly unacceptable.

 

                “Just keep killin’ ’em!”  He growled back, decapitating two before resorting to cutting them down without aiming for their necks.  The things were appearing too fast to only aim for their throats.

 

                “Yumi’s gone, Taichou!  I’ll buy you some time!  Get outta here!”

 

                Kenpachi snorted.  “I don’t run from a fight!  You get the hell outta here, you idiot!”

 

                “I ain’t leavin’ ya to have all the fun, Taichou!”

 

                Sometimes, Kenpachi really hated his Third and Fifth Seats.  His Fourth Seat at least had long since had the good sense to retreat back into the barracks when Kenpachi had ordered it.  Needless to say, Ikkaku and Yumichika had disobeyed orders, and now one of them had been taken as well.

 

                “They’re coming in from behind!  Fuck-!”

 

                Make that both.

 

                Kenpachi roared out a wordless cry of fury, thoroughly pissed off as the Hollows closed in around him.

 

                They wanted to take him?  Fine.  At least he’d be transported to wherever his subordinates were, and then he’d really tear into these pieces of trash.

 

                He lowered his sword and grinned when five Hollows lunged towards him.

 

**[One Day Ago; Tenth Division]**

 

                “Matsumoto!”  Toshirou watched with gritted teeth as his lieutenant disappeared from sight under a horde of white.

 

                Gritting his teeth, he leapt back several steps before raising his sword.  “Reign over the frosted heavens, Hyourinmaru!  Subjugation of the Heavens!”

 

                Black clouds rumbled overhead as they gathered in the skies.  Wind rose to a shriek around him as icy snow pelted downwards, swirling around the invading forces.

 

                If nothing else, Toshirou thought grimly as he watched several of the Hollows teleport through his blizzard and hurtle towards him.  The other captains would know something was wrong once they sensed his snowstorm.

 

**[One Day Ago; Ninth Division]**

 

                “Hisagi-fukutaichou!  What should we do?!”

 

                Shuuhei cut through yet another of the creatures before rounding on his subordinates.  “Get into the barracks!  Close all the doors and raise the Kidou barriers!  Do not lower them for anyone other than myself, Tousen-taichou, or one of the other captains!”

 

                “What about you, sir?!”

 

                “I’ll buy some time!”  Shuuhei ducked under three more Hollow-things before slicing them through the necks.  “Go!”

 

                Shuuhei shifted apprehensively as he stared out at the army of white in front of him.  There was no possible way he was going to be able to hold them off for long.

 

                “Reap, Kazeshini!”  His two scythe blades plunged into the nearest Hollows as he tore his way through the creatures, staggering backwards when one of them blasted a Cero at him.  Definitely a Hollow.

 

                He threw up his arms as his vision filled with white.  Damn, he wished his captain was here.  Then again, at least Tousen might be able to escape.

 

**[One Day Ago; Eighth Division]**

 

                Games were useless against opponents who didn't want to play and could actually... well, not play. They weren’t trying to kill him, just grab him.

 

                Shunsui shunpoed backwards over the roofs of his barracks, fending off the Hollows appearing and disappearing and reappearing around him.  It hadn't taken long to realize that decapitation was the only way to get rid of them, but the things were fast and there wasn't always time to cut their throats before they flashed away again.

 

                “Now that’s just not fair,” Shunsui sighed, tugging loose the strings attaching his sakkat to his head just in time as a Hollow appeared above him, dug its claws into his hat, and thankfully teleported away with only the accessory as Shunsui ducked away from one of his favourite possessions.

 

                He hopped away and cleaved through another half dozen Hollows before shunpoing through the air and away from his Division.  It would be best if he could draw them away from his barracks, though none of them had seemed all that interested in his subordinates.

 

                Except for Nanao.  They’d already kidnapped her five minutes ago.

 

                Shunsui flipped over four more Hollows before slicing through them as well.  Two dissipated, the other two reformed.

 

                They were difficult opponents.  When they teleported away, their reiatsu signatures disappeared with them, and Shunsui only had two seconds of warning at most before the Hollows teleported back again.

 

                Apparently though, Shunsui was proving to be more of a challenge than they had expected, and a dozen Hollows suddenly popped into existence, surrounding Shunsui in a tight circle.

 

                Shunsui quirked a wry smile.  “Now that’s really not fair.  Whatever happened to one on one?”

 

                He glanced upwards when the skies darkened.  Ah, it looked like it wasn't just his Division then, though at least Hitsugaya was well enough to put up a fight.

 

                He jumped back when one of the Hollows lunged.  Sweeping upwards with his wakizashi, he managed to cleave a diagonal line through the creature his tachi swung up to finish it off, severing its head from its body.

 

                Another appeared at his elbow and Shunsui quickly dispatched it the same way, only to jerk around when a Cero narrowly missed his head, leaving his right side open.

 

                He felt the tug of a Hollow’s claws in his kimono just before he was jerked away and darkness descended around him.

 

**[One Day Ago; Seventh Division]**

 

                “Komamura-taichou!”

 

                Tetsuzaemon ducked under a swarm of white creatures and watched in dismay as dozens upon dozens of the invading Hollows crowded around Komamura.  They’d obviously been prepared to overwhelm the large captain through sheer numbers alone, not giving Komamura enough time to retaliate.

 

                Then again, Tetsuzaemon didn't have anywhere near as many to contend with and he was faltering under the surge of Hollows.  He managed to bat away two more before a third bit into his shoulder and he was yanked off his feet, his vision going black.

 

**[One Day Ago; Sixth Division]**

 

                “Scatter, Senbonzakura,” Byakuya’s jaw tightened when his sword fragments streaked forward, only for the enemy Hollows to teleport out of the way in rapid succession.

 

                He spared a second to glance up at the sky when the sunlight faded and stormy clouds rolled in.  Perhaps Hitsugaya would have better luck with freezing these creatures.

 

                As it was, Byakuya knew he was at a disadvantage.  His sword was useless if the Hollows could simply teleport past his shield of cherry blossoms.

 

                He shunpoed backwards when several did exactly that and entered his woundless zone, claws outstretched as one of them blasted a Cero at him.  He nimbly sidestepped it before raising a hand and sending a stream of cherry blossoms directly into the creature’s face, separating its head from its body.

 

                He arched an eyebrow as the Hollow dissolved instead of reforming.  Decapitation then.

 

                On top of dealing with the invading Hollows though, his lieutenant was also absent; the man hadn't been seen since he had left for a week-long mission three weeks ago.  Byakuya hadn't been concerned – it wasn't unheard of for a Shinigami to need some extra time to complete their assignment, but with this new enemy attacking Seireitei, it was possible that Renji hadn't come back on time for a more significant reason.

 

                And come to think of it, Rukia hadn't returned to the Kuchiki Compound for two weeks now, also not uncommon.  His sister-in-law preferred residing in the Thirteenth Division barracks whenever possible, but-

 

                Byakuya stumbled forward a step when a Cero nicked his arm from behind.  He recovered instantly and directed Senbonzakura to the threat, but his momentary slip proved fatal as three more Hollows flashed into existence behind him and latched on to his back, snatching him away from his barracks in the span of a heartbeat.

 

**[One Day Ago; Fifth Division]**

 

                “Ai- Aizen- taichou?”

 

                “I do feel sorry for you, Hinamori-fukutaichou.  A pity you are too weak to stand behind me.  Your loyalty at least is admirable, if foolish.”

 

**[One Day Ago; Fourth Division]**

 

                “Keep all the patients inside, and then raise the Kidou barriers!”

 

                “Hai, Kotetsu-fukutaichou!”

 

                Isane whirled around and sliced down another Hollow.  Of all days for Unohana to visit Ukitake instead of the other way around, it just had to be today.

 

                Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the Seventh Seat beating back a Hollow trying to slip in through the rising Kidou barriers.

 

                “Yamada-kun!  Get inside!”  Isane called out, and then paid for it as a Hollow appeared in her blind spot and closed its claws around her arm.

 

**[One Day Ago; Third Division]**

 

                This was not part of the plan.  To be honest, Gin had no idea what the plan was anymore.  Mere weeks ago, Aizen had taken to keeping to himself, and Gin hadn't seen hide or hair of the man for days.

 

                “Taichou?”

 

                Gin glanced to the side, allowing himself a moment of regret at the thought of betraying his lieutenant as Izuru stared back at him with wide blue eyes.  He didn't want to, not when he’d taken the blond under his wing for so many years, but it was the only way to destroy Aizen.

 

                “Maa, get behind me, Izuru,” Gin instructed, eyes slitting open as the next wave of those odd Hollows advanced on them.  “You’re already injured.”

 

                “With all due respect, Ichimaru-taichou, I'm fine.  I can still fight.”

 

                _With you_ went unspoken and Gin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a heartbeat.  It really was too bad.  He would’ve liked to take Izuru with him when he left, but the lieutenant was loyal to the Gotei 13 as well, and would never follow a traitor out of Seireitei.

 

                “Keep up then,” Gin ordered, smile widening again as he pointed his Zanpakutou at the oncoming army.  “Shoot to kill, Shinsou.”

 

                His wakizashi extended in the blink of an eye, skewering the first line of Hollows through the necks before retracting just as quickly.

 

                “Raise your head, Wabisuke,” Izuru voiced from beside him, and then struck just as three Hollows teleported in front of them.

 

                The battle lasted for another five minutes, but just as Gin turned to deal with another cloud of Hollows, he heard a shout behind him and turned back just in time to see Izuru disappear.

 

                His eyes flashed open and he eviscerated the Hollows surrounding him in retaliation.

 

                Had Aizen discovered his plans for double-crossing him?  Was that why these things were here?

 

                If Aizen had taken Izuru as part of Gin’s punishment, the man was making a big mistake.

 

                A Cero from behind nearly took off his head, but as he spun around to take care of it, something crashed into his back and his feet were yanked from the ground as he was whisked away as well.

 

**[One Day Ago; Second Division]**

 

                Soifon’s accuracy and speed were second to none but even she couldn't keep up with the Hollows teleporting in and out around her, blasting Cero every time her back was turned.

 

                She delivered a bone-cracking kick to another Hollow before lashing out with Suzumebachi, once, twice, and obliterated the thing.

 

                This was insane.  Where were these things coming from?

 

                She grimaced as more Hollows poured in.  Her useless lieutenant had long since been snatched away, and several of her subordinates were lying on the ground, out cold or dead.

 

                “Damn it!”  She snapped as a Hollow appeared right in front of her.  She managed to get rid of it, only for something to collide with the back of her head, and before she could swear again, her Division disappeared around her and darkness replaced it.

 

**[One Day Ago; First Division]**

 

                “Welcome, Yamamoto-soutaichou, to the end of the Gotei 13.”

 

**XXXIII.**

 

**[Present; First Division]**

 

                Genryuusai stood in stony silence as his – former – Fifth Division captain strode in again, this time with a small procession behind him.  His eyes widened slightly when he recognized them.

 

                “GET THE HELL OFF ME!”

 

                “Shut up, Hiyori!  Now’s not the time!”

 

                Murmurs swept the room as several captains stirred from their bored positions inside their respective cages.

 

                “Lisa-chan?”  Shunsui was, predictably, first to call out, stunned disbelief in his voice.

 

                Yadoumaru Lisa craned her head around and glared daggers at her former captain even as she struggled fruitlessly against the reiatsu-suppressing cuffs around her wrists.  “What do _you_ want?”

 

                Shunsui uncharacteristically faltered, subsiding for a second before his expression melted into warm regard.  “I'm glad you're alive, Lisa-chan.”

 

                The former lieutenant snorted derisively.  “Of course you are.  Guess that explains why support from you was nonexistent a century ago.  Get off, you creep!  I can walk myself!”

 

                This last bit was directed at the effeminate male Arrancar manhandling her from behind.  Or attempting to anyway.  Privately, Genryuusai approved of the elbow that the girl dug into the Hollow, even if it wasn't an entirely well thought-out move.

 

                The slap she received proved it, and as she staggered forward and spat out a mouthful of blood, Genryuusai saw Shunsui’s hand tighten around his tachi.

 

                Not that any of their Zanpakutou worked against the odd cages that Aizen had placed them in.  The enclosures prevented Kidou and reiatsu from activating within them, Zanpakutou could not cut through the Kidou-like barriers locking them in, and even the reiatsu-suppressing cuffs automatically disintegrated as soon as they passed into the cages.

 

                For now, Genryuusai scanned the other newcomers.  Yes, all the captains and lieutenants whom he had ordered to be executed for subjecting themselves to Hollowfication were there, as well as Urahara Kisuke and Tsukabishi Tessai.

 

                “You too, Kisuke?” Shihouin Yoruichi called out from the cage she was sharing with Soifon and her lieutenant.  Genryuusai had spent the first half hour in confinement watching the former and present Second Division captains fight as best they could before they had settled for a temporary truce.

 

                Urahara smiled blithely at the Shihouin princess as he was shoved into a separate cage from the Visored and Tsukabishi.  “So that’s where you got to, Yoruichi-san.  You haven’t returned to the shop in five months.”

 

                “Meh,” Yoruichi waved a hand.  “I was busy.”

 

                “Don’t listen to her,” The Shiba Clan Head was lying on the floor of her cage, eyes closed and one arm tucked behind her head.  “She was lazin’ about in my house.”

 

                “I am sure this reunion can wait,” Aizen interjected, and Genryuusai fully concentrated on the traitor again.  “After all, you will have plenty of time to catch up later on.  I do not plan on killing you yet.  Most of you anyway.”

 

                “Aizen-taichou, the treacherous Espada have been captured.”

 

                Genryuusai’s eyebrows twitched with irritation as the other traitor entered the room.  To think two of his captains had fallen so far.

 

Several cages down, Komamura and Hisagi had both stiffened, but they did not attempt to shout at Tousen this time.  Both had already yelled themselves hoarse yesterday.

 

                Genryuusai eyed the group that were brought in after Tousen.  From what he had gathered, the Espada were Aizen’s strongest Arrancar.

 

                He frowned when he caught sight of the green-haired child being hauled in beside an impassive man with brown hair and the remains of his Hollow mask positioned along his neck.

 

                Behind them and snarling profanities in a guttural voice, a blue-haired Arrancar was being dragged along the floor.  Unlike the others, this one had his legs cuffed together as well as his hands.

 

                Two more entered last, a blonde-haired female Arrancar with dark skin and an emotionless black-haired male, smaller than the former but giving off a far more dangerous air.  His green eyes held a hint of murderous rage.

 

                “Turning on your own men now, Aizen?”  Hirako drawled from across the room as the Espada were thrown into their own cage.

 

                Aizen turned a pleasant smile on his former captain.  “Perhaps, perhaps not.  But as they will become traitors one day, I would rather not risk it for now.”

 

                Something flashed in Hirako’s eyes but the man simply crossed his arms and settled against one wall of the cage.  “So what?  Ya can predict the future now?”

 

                Genryuusai had been suspicious about that for a while now.  The power he sensed from Aizen did not feel like it belonged to the former captain entirely.  There was something more layering it.

 

                Aizen came to a stop in the middle of the room, Tousen on his right and a smatter of his Arrancar on his left.

 

                “Not quite, Hirako Shinji,” Aizen smiled again, cold and cruel, before reaching for his collar and peeling back a piece of the cloth.

 

                Genryuusai opened his eyes.

 

                “I am from the future,” Aizen announced dramatically as a sliver of blue shone from his chest.  “A time where I am god and my empire stands above those too foolish to follow me.  The Hogyoku accepted me as its master and has aided me in my sovereignty.  Yet I regret taking my time in decimating your ranks and hoping there would come a day where the Gotei 13 would see sense and surrender to me unconditionally.  As a result, ten years of bloodshed destroyed parts of my army that I would’ve preferred keeping intact.  Now the Hogyoku has sent me back and given me a second chance to end the war before it starts.  All of you will bow to me and me alone.”

 

                A shocked silence followed.  Some looked skeptical; others paled in restrained apprehension.  Ichimaru Gin looked blank as he sat motionlessly beside his lieutenant.  Aizen had already revealed the man to be a double-crosser.  Apparently, the captain would’ve betrayed the Gotei 13 in an attempt to assassinate Aizen in the end.

 

                Genryuusai closed his eyes.  If Aizen was telling the truth, then the man would know more than enough to counter anything they could attack him with.  The Hollows that had invaded Seireitei must have been created in the future.

 

                “You would think, Aizen,” The blonde Arrancar spoke up from behind her collar.  “That it would be wiser to keep your strongest Espada close by.  If you are indeed from the future.”

 

                Aizen glanced dismissively at her.  “I made stronger Espada.  You are a mere footnote, especially after you defected.”

 

                The woman stiffened.

 

                “I’d never follow anyone weak!”  The blue-haired Espada spat out.  “Means someone stronger came along and fucked you up, didn't they?”

 

                Aizen’s smile cooled several degrees.  It seemed the Arrancar had struck a nerve.

 

                “That boy had potential,” Aizen responded vaguely.  “Until his friends and family corrupted him.  When I am done here, I will go fetch him.  He will grow under my guidance, and become my strongest soldier.”

                Genryuusai’s frown deepened.  Boy?  Which boy?  Shinigami?  Or Arrancar?

 

                He shifted a little and caught the downward tilt of Hirako’s trademark smile, as well as Urahara’s narrowed eyes.

 

                “Bring the girl in,” Aizen said next, and one of the Arrancar departed, coming back two minutes later with-

 

                “Rukia!”

 

                Genryuusai glanced briefly to the side at where the previously-missing Abarai Renji was now standing, leaning heavily against the wall of the cage with injuries of his own as Kuchiki Rukia limped in, features pale, eyes wide, and subtle signs of torture, not extremely serious but enough, in the strained lines of her face.

 

                Kuchiki Byakuya had never looked colder.

 

                “You son-of-a-bitch, I’ll kill you!”  Abarai railed, almost falling flat on his face when he tried to take a step forward.  Only his captain’s timely intervention in the form of a brief hand at his elbow prevented it.

 

                Three cages down, Juushirou looked as white as his hair and he had one balled fist placed against the barrier.

 

                They had all discovered too late that both Abarai Renji and Kuchiki Rukia had been abducted two weeks ago and had been in the company of Aizen ever since.

 

                “Why have you not given your powers to the boy?”  Aizen was saying now as he forced Kuchiki to her knees.  “If anyone here can answer for her, she need not suffer any further.”

 

                “And like I said a dozen times before,” Kuchiki bit out, venom in every word.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

 

                Aizen ignored her as he continued, eyes glittering obsessively.  “You should’ve met the boy on your last assignment.  The Kurosaki boy.  Unless... the effect my return had on the past prevented such a thing...”

 

                He trailed off and Genryuusai could actually see the madness in the traitor’s eyes.  The Hogyoku had thoroughly ruined the man.

 

                “We don’t know anyone named Kurosaki Ichigo!”  Abarai yelled hoarsely.

 

                Aizen glanced sharply at the redhead.  “This I can believe from you, Abarai-fukutaichou.  You would not have befriended him yet at this point in time.  But Kuchiki Rukia should have already met him.”

 

                “I haven’t met anybody by that name,” Kuchiki rasped out.  Genryuusai stifled a sigh.  He could hear the lie in her voice.

 

                Aizen flattened her on the ground with one foot.  “You are lying, Kuchiki-fukutaichou.  It is admirable of you to keep your silence for Kurosaki Ichigo.  That boy has always had the ability to secure the unconditional loyalty of everyone around him.  But your continued refusal to cooperate will only result in your death.”

 

                “You’re planning on killing me anyway!”  Kuchiki – fukutaichou, Aizen had called her – snapped.  “What kind of threat is that?  You've been spouting all this for the past two weeks!”

 

                Genryuusai arched an eyebrow.  Had the girl always possessed this much vitriol?

 

                “Be silent, Kuchiki-fukutaichou,” Aizen ordered coolly and the foot on Kuchiki’s back increased in pressure.  He paused and his gaze lifted to take in everyone else.  “...Urahara Kisuke, where is your Zanpakutou?”

 

                The captain Genryuusai remembered had, once upon a time, even after ten years of captaincy, held a thin edge of nervousness in his conduct.  This man had none of that.  Exile had hardened him, and Urahara was all smiles.

 

                “Who knows?”  The man said airily.  “Must've left it lying back at the shop.  I'm getting forgetful in my old age.”

 

                Aizen stared at him, and then removed his foot from Kuchiki’s back and stalked across the room, lethality in every step.

 

                “You should know Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke,” Aizen said softly as he came to a stop in front of Urahara’s cage.  “You are friends with his father after all.”

 

                Urahara didn't look perturbed.  “Of course I know him.  It would be pointless to deny it.  It doesn't change the fact that Kurosaki-san is not a Shinigami.”

 

                Aizen smiled coldly.  “He is not a mere Human either.”

 

                Genryuusai straightened.  Several others exchanged glances.  A Human?  What would be so special about a Human?

 

                “No,” Urahara agreed amicably.  “That isn’t quite possible.”

 

                Aizen surveyed the blond shopkeeper.  “So why did Kuchiki-fukutaichou not give her powers to Kurosaki Ichigo?  And why did you not leave the Hogyoku inside the girl?”

 

                Urahara smiled blandly back at him.  “I changed my mind.  I found a way to destroy the Hogyoku.”

 

                “That is impossible,” Aizen said smoothly.  “The Hogyoku cannot be destroyed.  Unfortunately, my Hogyoku has been used up for the most part to bring me back, leaving me with only part of it, enough to create my army but it would be best to obtain another one.  Where is it?”

 

                Urahara gazed back, implacable stare against Aizen’s hungry eyes.  “I destroyed it.”

 

                Next second, Urahara stumbled back as Aizen planted an open palm against the barrier and a thin white blade shot out of his hand and through the barrier, scoring a deep gouge in the scientist’s shoulder and painting a splash of crimson on the wall behind.

 

                “Kisuke!”  Yoruichi’s voice cut through the room.

 

                Urahara grunted as the blade disappeared, a mocking smile on his lips when he raised his head again.  “You've grown impatient in _your_ old age, Aizen-san.”

 

                Aizen smiled thinly.  “I do not like to be kept waiting by worthless dissenters.”

 

                He turned away and waved a hand at one of the Arrancar hidden in the shadows.  “Perhaps this will jog your memory.”

 

                Even Genryuusai started when the figure stepped out into the open.

 

                “Kaien!”  The cry came from Kukaku who had lunged forward, eyes wild.  “What the hell-!”

 

                “That’s not Kaien!”  Kuchiki interrupted.  “That’s one of his Espada pretending to be Kaien!  That thing absorbed the Hollow that killed Kaien and gained his memories and Nejibana!”

 

                “And so he is still Shiba Kaien in some form,” Aizen said, amused again as the Kaien-lookalike strode forward.  “And what better way for Kuchiki-fukutaichou to die than at the hands of the man she killed?”

               

                Anguish flashed across Kuchiki’s face.  Genryuusai frowned.  This was bad.  The Shiba Clan Head losing control would be exactly what Aizen wanted, and a stressed Juushirou was never good for his former student’s health.  As it was, Juushirou was already wavering on his feet and his Third Seats were hovering anxiously at his side.

 

                “But first,” Aizen glanced down at Kuchiki.  “One last chance, Kuchiki-fukutaichou.  What interactions have you had with Kurosaki Ichigo?  Have you told him of the Spiritual World?  Turned his head with fancy notions of heroics?”

 

                Kuchiki stared back, silent as the grave.

 

                Aizen sighed as if bemoaning a disobedient toddler.  His gaze lifted to examine his captives once more.  “Luppi, the child.  Bring the child here.”

 

                The effeminate Arrancar from before bowed with a smirk before sauntering over to the cage holding the Espada.

 

                The brown-haired Arrancar who had remained calm and pokerfaced up until now surged to his feet and forcibly shoved the girl behind him, previously half-lidded eyes now blazing with restrained anger.  “Aizen, I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

 

                Aizen chuckled detachedly.  “You always were far too attached to other people, Starrk.  Depending on others will not make you powerful.”

 

                Luppi had extended a hand now and one of the teleporting Hollows from before flickered into existence.  Half a second later, it was inside the cage, and before Starrk could do more than whirl around and draw his blade, the Hollow had disappeared again with the girl in tow.

 

                “Starrk!”  The girl yelped, struggling against Luppi’s grip as the Arrancar grabbed her.

 

                “Let her go,” The Espada’s voice was low with suppressed rage.  “I will make you pay for this, Aizen!”

 

                Aizen dismissed the threat with a patronizing smile before turning to the struggling child Arrancar Luppi had dragged over.  “Lilynette Gingerback, was it?”

 

                The girl bared her teeth in a snarl.  Aizen shook his head.  “No manners at all.  Well, no matter.”

 

                He turned to Kuchiki on the ground.  “Now then, Kuchiki-fukutaichou, she may be an Arrancar but she is still a child.  Will you let her die?  Or will you answer my questions?  I will start with her, and then I will pick another, and another, and another, until I reach your brother, and then his lieutenant, and then even your captain.  How many people will you condemn to death for the sake of one boy?”

 

                Kuchiki trembled but kept her mouth shut.  Genryuusai frowned again.  Who was this Kurosaki Ichigo?

 

                “Very well,” Aizen nodded at the Kaien-double.  “Kill the child.”

 

                “LILYNETTE!”  Starrk had struck out at the barrier but his Zanpakutou merely glanced off of it.

 

                The child began thrashing more desperately as Aizen’s Espada advanced, unsheathing Nejibana, but with Luppi pinning her down, it was impossible for her to get away.

 

                Instead, she went limp and turned to stare at her partner.  “Starrk.  Sorry.”

 

                Genryuusai hardened his heart, watching as several of the lieutenants and seated officers averted their gazes.

 

                A twisted smirk that didn't fit Kaien’s features curled the Espada’s mouth as the sword descended.

 

                Blood sprayed the air.

 

**XXXIV.**

 

                “Go, Aibou!  I’ll take care of this!”  Shiro shouted above the din of panicked Shinigami and shrieking Hollows.

 

                Ichigo didn't pause, nodding curtly as he sped past his Hollow.  Any Tels that appeared in his path were beheaded with the wakizashi he was wielding, Muramasa slicing through the enemy ranks with ease.  Zangetsu thrummed with restrained power against his back, ready any time Ichigo needed him.

 

                Faster.  He had to move faster.  The Gotei 13 was ridiculously unprepared when it came to any sort of invasions.

 

                Even from halfway across Seireitei, he could sense the pulse of the Hogyoku mixed with Aizen’s own reiatsu, but there was something different.  The Hogyoku’s power was significantly lessened.  Had travelling back in time done something to it?

 

                Clearly however, it hadn't affected it enough to stop Aizen from causing havoc with its help.

 

                He sprinted towards the First Division, single eye on the orange roof as he skated through the air at top speed.

 

                Faster.  Faster.

 

                He could only pray that Aizen hadn't started his killing spree yet.

 

                There.  He could see the entrance, guarded by two Numeros.

 

                They didn't even see him coming before Ichigo had cut them down.

 

                Through the halls.  Aizen was just up ahead.  Ichigo fully concealed his reiatsu.

 

                One chance.  He had one chance at an ambush.  The Hogyoku wasn't as strong.  Aizen should be able to die without the full power of the Hogyoku granting him immortality.

 

                Ichigo surged through the dark shadows cast by the alcoves.  There.  Up ahead.

 

                He took in everything in the room in the span of a heartbeat.

 

                Captains, lieutenants, seated officers, Visored, and various others all locked up in cages.

 

                Tousen lingering in the corner.

 

                Rukia on the ground.

 

                Lilynette beside her.

 

                Luppi holding her down.

 

                Aizen several feet away from them.

 

                And-

 

                _Aaroniero_.  Not Shiba Kaien.  Sword raised above Lilynette.

 

                No.

 

                Aizen or Lilynette.  Aizen, with a high chance of dying if Ichigo skewered him, or Lilynette, not important in the greater scheme of things but would certainly die at Aaroniero’s hand before Ichigo could dispatch him.

 

                Metal glinted in the dim light.

 

                It was a no-brainer.

 

                The blade descended.

               

                Ichigo darted into the room and struck.

 

                Blood sprayed the air.

 

**XXXV.**

 

                Ichigo didn't waste any time as he ran Aaroniero through from behind, thrusting Muramasa straight through the Espada’s chest before slicing outwards to the left to free his Zanpakutou, ripping a gaping wound in the Arrancar’s side.  He spun around Aaroniero and planted himself in front of Lilynette and Rukia as the Espada howled in agony, crumpling to the ground as green liquid gushed out and stained the floorboards.

 

Ichigo didn't linger on the fallen Espada though.  His neck prickled and he had Zangetsu unsheathed from his back even as Luppi leapt at him from behind, sword raised and a battle cry on his tongue.

 

                Wrong move.

 

                In less time than it took to blink, Ichigo spun on his heel and struck out again, bringing the katana down on Luppi’s left shoulder and cleaving a line straight through the Arrancar’s body, nearly ripping him in half as Ichigo lifted him bodily from the ground and flung him aside.

 

Three steps, turn, and he had Tousen, who had tried to attack him from the right, frozen in his tracks, the tip of Zangetsu pressed against the blind man’s jugular.

 

                The entire exchange had taken three seconds.

 

                “Stand down, Tousen,” Ichigo said in the ringing silence that ensued.  His voice had flattened, blank and frigid as a frozen pond.  “Drop your Zanpakutou or I’ll cut you down right now.”

 

                Tousen remained motionless for a few seconds longer before slowly lowering his Zanpakutou, the blade hitting the ground with a dull clang.

 

                Ichigo wasted no time bringing Muramasa up and flipping the blade around to knock the man out with the hilt.

 

                For Shuuhei and Komamura, or Ichigo wouldn't bother.  Tousen had given them all enough grief in the future to last three lifetimes.

 

                “I- Ichigo?”

 

                Without pause, he sheathed his Zanpakutou, swiftly scooped up both Rukia and Lilynette, and then shunpoed away just as three more Arrancars sonidoed forward and thrust their respective swords into the ground where they had been half a second ago.

 

                He landed between the cages that held the Visored and the Espada, and it didn't take eyes to sense the relief coming from Starrk as the man dropped to his knees on the other side of the barrier.

 

                “Lilynette-”

 

                “I'm fine, Starrk,” Lilynette assured before peering up at Ichigo, wary but obediently still in the cradle of Ichigo’s right arm.  “Not a scratch.”

 

                Carefully, Ichigo lowered both Shinigami and Arrancar to the ground, making sure Lilynette only shuffled over to the side of the cage Starrk was still in, not quite touching the surface, and wasn't going to do anything reckless before he turned to Rukia.

 

                His once-lover and always-friend was staring up at him with wide violet eyes, hair mussed and exhaustion plain on her features but still alive.

 

                Still alive.  He’d made it in time.

 

**XXXVI.**

 

                “Ichigo?”  Rukia whispered, taking in the longer, messier hair, the uneven scar and glittering, pale blue eye peeking out from behind tousled bangs, the stronger jawline and sharper cheekbones, and the overall matured air about him.  “Is- Is that you?”

 

                Ichigo nodded, helping her lean against a part of the wall next to the cages on either side of them.  He cupped one of her hands in his and sent a gentle wave of healing Kidou into her system.  Rukia was too stunned to ask who had taught him that.

 

                “You’re older,” Rukia said shakily, mindless of the rest of the room listening in on their conversation with equal attentiveness.  “You’re- You're a Shinigami.  Why is your _soul_ older than your _body_?”

 

                Ichigo blinked at her.  “Aizen’s been monologuing all this time and you can’t take a shot in the dark, Princess Midget?”

 

                Rukia flushed and bristled indignantly, all impending awkwardness forgotten.  “Don’t call me by that ridiculous name!  Besides, you’re just abnormally tall!”

 

                “That means pretty much everyone’s abnormally tall to you,” Ichigo teased, something very much like relief in his eyes as he scanned her before glancing sharply over his shoulder.  Rukia craned her head and caught sight of the three advancing Arrancar.

 

“I would highly advise against your next actions,” Ichigo’s grip on her hand was still gentle.  His voice on the other hand was frostier than Hitsugaya’s Zanpakutou.  “You will die.”

 

                One of the Arrancar sneered, and all three, rather unwisely in Rukia’s opinion, raised their swords.  “It’s three against one.  We take ya down and we’ll be the next Espada!”

 

                They sonidoed forward.

 

                All Rukia registered was the fact that Ichigo was no longer beside her before she was gaping at the bodies that simultaneously hit the ground, and then at Ichigo standing in front of her, both his swords sheathed once more.

 

                He glanced back at her, genuine remorse surfacing on his expression.  “I'm sorry for not coming sooner.”

 

                Rukia raised her eyes, studying him for a moment with shrewd sobriety.  He had nothing to be sorry about.  If she was a time-traveler, she wouldn't go about announcing it to everyone right away either, and from what she’d gathered, neither Ichigo nor Aizen had had any idea that the other had also come back in time.  Ichigo couldn't have known, yet the self-deprecating guilt on his face was very real.

 

So she bit back the million-and-one questions all wanting to be answered and smiled instead.

 

                “You were late, idiot,” Rukia sniped, falling into their normal verbal jousting.  “But at least you're here now.”

 

                Ichigo looked thrown for a moment, happy and surprised and sad all at the same time in a way that made Rukia’s heart wrench, before he quirked a tiny smile at her and then stepped over the already dissipating bodies of the three Arrancars he had just killed.

 

                Rukia spared a moment to check the other people in the room.  There wasn't a single Shinigami or Arrancar who wasn't looking at Ichigo, waiting for him to make his next move.

 

                She just hoped Ichigo knew what he was doing.

 

**XXXVII.**

 

                “I do hope you brought Benihime with you, Ichigo,” Kisuke called from one cage over, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief at Ichigo’s timely arrival.

 

                Ichigo rolled his eyes and drew out Kisuke’s Zanpakutou from the folds of his Shihakushou.  “Next time, don’t go leaving your Zanpakutou behind.”

 

                Kisuke aimed for a look that Yoruichi always called an idiotic pout.  “I was leaving you a clue!”

 

                Ichigo eyed him in exasperation.  “I _can_ put two and two together.  There’s no one here who knows Aizen better than I do, and Tels can only be created from the Hogyoku.”

 

                Kisuke huffed but he had to hide a small grin of wry amusement.  Half the time, he’d swear Ichigo was his age.  The time-traveler scolded him more often than Tessai did.  “Yes, yes, I suppose you have a point.”

 

                He reached out for Benihime as Ichigo passed the blade through the barrier.  Interesting; it seemed that anything could enter but only Tels could exit, at least while the barriers were activated.  He’d have to study the cages in more detail later.

 

                He glanced up and found Ichigo gazing at his shoulder.  “You alright?”

 

                Kisuke tugged his hat down and shrugged easily, ignoring the ache of his injury.  “Flesh wound.  Nothing serious.”

 

                Ichigo nodded in acceptance, though there was a certain gleam in his eye that told Kisuke that he’d probably be bullied to the Fourth in the near future.  Honestly, Ichigo worried far too much.

 

                “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

                Kisuke stiffened imperceptibly as Ichigo turned away.  At the moment, he’d give an arm to be able to break out.  He’d sworn to himself that Ichigo wouldn't have to face Aizen alone, not to mention he’d die via Engetsu if Ichigo failed to return to his family.

 

                All he could do now though was hide his anxiety and watch as the faceoff unfolded.

 

**XXXVIII.**

 

                “He’s a dual-wielder like you, Taichou.”

 

                Shunsui glanced briefly at his lieutenant before nodding, taking in the new arrival and the way the young man carried himself.

 

Light on his feet, body relaxed but ready to strike at a moment’s notice, a fast and lethal fighting style, and-

 

                Shunsui absently tilted up his hat and took an estimate of the newcomer’s stance.  A wakizashi and a katana, almost equally balanced on both sides, yet he’d gamble that the time-traveler was right-hand dominant since the heavier blade was held in his right hand.  But there was an odd slant in the man’s shoulder line, very slight and probably unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with wielding two swords.

 

                When fighting with two blades of unequal size, the lighter one always led while the heavier one followed for the finishing blow, which also meant that the former would be angled slightly higher than the latter when held at the ready.  Yet this man was the opposite, his katana raised half a centimetre higher than Shunsui would’ve expected, concurrently tightening the defense of the man’s right side.

 

                It didn't really matter in the long run, especially since, from what Shunsui had seen after those five Arrancar and Tousen had been taken down, the newcomer’s speed more than covered up any lag when wielding the wakizashi, but-

 

                Shunsui took a step to the left and caught a glimpse of unfocused blue beneath wayward orange bangs.

 

                Ah.  That was why.  Subconscious compensation for a much wider blind spot than most other people.

 

                Shunsui frowned, mulling over the rapid series of events over the past few minutes.  Aizen had travelled back in time.  This young man, Kurosaki Ichigo of unknown heritage, had also travelled back in time and was seemingly on their side.  Rukia had met him in Karakura, which implied that that was where he lived, and she had protected him even through two weeks of torture.

 

                Not a mere Human, Aizen had said.  And Rukia had mentioned the kid’s soul being older than his body which meant that Kurosaki Ichigo was still part Human.  Did that mean the other part was Shinigami?  But Urahara had said that he wasn't one at all.

 

                Then again, Urahara Kisuke had always had the strange tendency to lie.  Shunsui figured that it came with the package of once having been Onmitsukidou.

 

                He paused and glanced over at the man in question.  Urahara was no longer smiling.  If anything, there was a tightness in the downward tilt of his mouth, and the hand that grasped his Zanpakutou was close to white-knuckled.

 

                Shunsui looked back towards the standoff.  Aizen was still smiling, but Shunsui recognized the ugly irritation tainting the expression.

 

                On the other hand, Kurosaki Ichigo was utterly blank, closed off and cold, hardened and very different from the gentle way he had checked Rukia over earlier.  The only thing that remained the same was the weariness that stubbornly clung on to the young man’s thin frame like a wet cloak.

 

                “Taichou?”

 

                “Hmm?”  Shunsui glanced again at Nanao, whose gaze had dropped downwards.  He looked down as well, blinked, and then released a faint sigh.  He offered a reassuring smile to his lieutenant and quickly loosened the involuntary grip he had had on his tachi.

 

                It wasn't so unexpected that he was feeling just a little bit on edge.

 

                The part-Human was still Human after all, and he was so _young_.  Aizen had said ten years.  Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't possibly be a day over thirty right now.  There shouldn't have been any plausible reason for him to fight a Shinigami’s war.

 

                And yet here he was, and for all the strength he had shown even in the mere few seconds it had taken him to defeat five Arrancar and a Shinigami captain, there was something glass-like and brittle in the young man’s bearing that Shunsui disliked.

 

                His gaze swept the room and rested on Retsu, who was frowning ever-so-slightly in disapproval, and then on Juushirou, who, while paler than usual, was staring at the scene with uncharacteristic grimness.  Even Hitsugaya had a mildly disconcerted scowl on his face.

 

                So Shunsui wasn't the only one then.  The other captains could see it too.

 

                 He turned back once more, something a lot like dread tugging at his gut.  Just how bad had the future been?

 

**XXXIX.**

 

                There was a touch of Kaien in Kurosaki Ichigo’s features.

 

                That was the first thought that came to Juushirou’s mind when he had laid eyes on the bright-haired man.

 

                Only a touch.

 

                Physically, they were almost the same and would’ve looked even more similar if Kaien had had slightly longer hair, but that was where the resemblances ended.

 

                Because if there was one thing Juushirou could've label Kaien as, it was happy.  That, and loyal of course, but his former lieutenant had always been happy with life overall, right up until his death.

 

                This man however was anything but, though if everything that had been said and implied and shown since Aizen had revealed himself to be from the future was true, then Juushirou figured that there would have to be a hell of a lot of loyalty involved for Kurosaki Ichigo to come back just to stop a madman for them.

 

                Time travel itself was nearly unheard of, or at least not something most people would even contemplate, so for someone to voluntarily come back in time, leaving everything they’d ever known and virtually condemning themselves to a life in permanent exile, the future must have been beyond dire.

 

                And Rukia had befriended him despite the physical reminders when she had spent all the years since Kaien’s death avoiding the places that the lieutenant had once haunted most.  Juushirou had thought something had changed when she had reported in a few months ago after her assignment to Karakura; lighter, with a happier air about her and wearing a smile he hadn't seen since Kaien had been alive.  He had chalked it up to a mission in the Human World; some time away from the restrictions of the Gotei 13 did everyone good.  He hadn't expected an actual person to be responsible.

 

                He stifled a cough and let his gaze drift back to where the newcomer was standing.  The young man had saved a child; an Arrancar, but still a child, and Juushirou was glad.  The muted anguish on the face of the girl’s caretaker – partner? – had made him wince in sympathy.

 

                He studied Kurosaki’s profile.  What little he could sense of the man’s reiatsu was finely honed and screamed of power.  The time-traveler wielded two swords, like himself and Shunsui, though Kurosaki’s Zanpakutou looked to still be in its sealed form.  Twin blades were rare enough when released; to have them in sealed form as well...

 

                Juushirou thought back to the brief display of skill when Kurosaki had ambushed the Kaien-double and cut down that other Arrancar before knocking Tousen out.  The young man’s fighting style was shockingly familiar; Juushirou had placed it almost at once – Kurosaki Ichigo fought very much like Shunsui did.

 

                So had they known each other in the future?  Surely, if Shunsui had taken the bright-haired Shinigami under his wing to the point where their fighting styles almost matched, then Juushirou would know him fairly well too?

 

                And if they did, if Kurosaki Ichigo had been more than just a distant ally, more of a friend to them and perhaps quite a few others in this room, then Juushirou wondered just how the time-traveler’s mental state was still holding up so well.

 

                He paused and scrutinized the stony features, the visible eye looking like it was trying to stare Aizen to death, and he corrected himself.

 

                Kurosaki didn't seem like he was holding up very well at all.

 

                When this was over – and Juushirou fervently hoped that it wouldn't end with the orange-haired time-traveler dead on the ground – he would try to approach the young man and suggest a visit to the Fourth.

 

**XL.**

 

                Shinji wasn't happy.  Far from it.  In fact, he was about as unhappy as he could possibly get.

 

                He knew that there was no way Ichigo could've known that Aizen would abduct all of them and stick them into these cages but that didn't stop him from wanting to shake some sense into the time-travelling Visored.

 

                Hadn't they talked about this?  Just last night?

 

                Shinji clicked his tongue in annoyance as he leaned against the immovable barrier and watched Ichigo step away from Kisuke towards Aizen.

 

                It wasn't that he thought Ichigo was weak and wouldn't be able to stand a chance against Aizen; the time-traveler wouldn't have lasted ten years in the war without significant talent in survival, not to mention that he had taken Hiyori ( _that_ was understandable), Kensei, _and_ Love by surprise that first day they had met and had had them all at his mercy before any of them could retaliate.  Shinji knew strength when he saw it and Ichigo had that in spades.

 

                What he _was_ worried about was whether or not Ichigo was strong _enough_ to pull through in an all-or-nothing battle against Aizen, what with Ichigo’s state of mind the way it was.

 

                No one had actually come out and said it – not Kisuke, not Shinji, and certainly not Ichigo – but it didn't take a genius to realize that the younger man was at least a little screwed in the head.  You couldn't fight a war against god-wannabes and monsters for ten years, lose a whole slew of people along the way, travel back in time and essentially strand yourself in the past alone, surround yourself with should-be-dead friends and family, and _still_ come out perfectly sane.

 

                Heck, you couldn't come out of Hollowfication perfectly sane, and from what Shinji had heard, Ichigo’s soul had already gone through a whole crapload of weird shit.  Pile everything else on top of that and it was a downright miracle that Ichigo hadn't gone off the deep end yet.

 

                It was something Shinji had admired about Ichigo as soon as he had heard the entire story from Kisuke.  It took a lot of strength to keep going like that, even after losing everything and knowing none of it could ever be recovered.  But he also knew that there was only so far Ichigo could keep going before he simply _couldn't_ anymore.  The younger man’s heart wouldn't allow it.

 

                Saving the Arrancar kid had been a prime example.  Instead of going for Aizen, Ichigo had chosen to save the girl.  In a way, even after everything he’d been through, Ichigo’s heart was still soft.  He cared too much, though Shinji supposed that if he didn't, things would be going to hell right now since Ichigo wouldn't have bothered coming back in the first place.  He knew Kisuke cared about them but the future version of the shopkeeper had chosen to push everything onto a twenty-six-year-old instead of coming back himself.

 

                (Shinji would’ve kicked the shopkeeper when he had heard that part if they had been in the same room instead of talking over the phone.)

 

                So Shinji very much preferred being outside of this damn barrier instead of shut away while Ichigo prepared for yet another battle against the traitor-who-just-wouldn't-do-the-world-a-favour-and-die.

 

                That wasn't an option though so he was stuck with watching helplessly on the sidelines as two evident adversaries stepped forward for yet another confrontation.

 

**XLI.**

 

                Ichigo faced the man standing across the room.  God, he hated this guy.  “Long time no see, Aizen.  How long’s it been?  Nine months or so?”

 

                “Thereabouts,” Aizen agreed cordially, though his tone took on a scornful edge.  “I believe I finished off most of what was left of your pitiful resistance the last time we faced each other.  Who was last?  Oh yes, Hirako Shinji, wasn’t it?  I believe you even cried for him.  It was truly heartbreaking.”

 

                There was a sharp intake of breath from the Visored’s direction.

 

                Ichigo’s expression didn't waver.  His heart felt cold.  “Last of the resistance is standing right in front of you, Aizen.  Though I’ll admit, I didn't expect to see you here.”

 

                “Likewise,” Aizen’s smile grew.  “Urahara Kisuke made yet another mistake, didn't he?  He meant to send you back to kill me in the past, but the Hogyoku evidently latched on to the power source and brought me back as well.  The Hogyoku is always hungry for more power.”

 

                Ichigo didn't really understand the science part of it all, and it didn't really matter.  He was here, Aizen was here, and it would come down to a fight to the death between them.

 

                “Let me ask you, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Aizen continued, his gaze drifting over Ichigo’s shoulder.  “Why did you attack Aaroniero?  Why did you save Lilynette Gingerback?”

 

He paused, and when Ichigo remained silent, a smirk curled at the Shinigami’s lips.  “It would’ve been wiser to attack me.  You have lost your one chance at an ambush.  As always, your heart is too soft.  The girl would’ve died but there was a possibility of my death at your hands.”

 

He stopped again, and then goaded silkily, “Then again, if I recall correctly, my Primera Espada were always your favourites.  You spent two extra weeks in my company for the girl when you could've escaped alone.”

 

A startled noise came from Lilynette’s direction, also ignored.

 

Ichigo’s hand reached for Muramasa.  Aizen chuckled.  “So hasty, Kurosaki Ichigo.  Don’t you want to chat some more?  I even have an offer for you.”

 

Ichigo found his voice.  “There’s nothing you can offer me.  You’re the one who took everything I had.”

 

“Not true,” Aizen admonished.  “Was it not your choice to come back?  In that future, you still had Urahara Kisuke and a few others, did you not, broken though they might’ve been?  Yet you gave even that up, all for a chance to come back and save a Soul Society that does not know you.  They will never fully appreciate what you have done for them, what you have given up for them.  Is it not better to join me?  I will even let you keep your pet Espada.  And your friends need not die if you convince them to join me.  I’ll even-”

 

Aizen coughed, a splatter of blood dripping onto the floorboards.  Ichigo drove his wakizashi deeper into the overlord’s gut, trying to drive it upwards towards the Hogyoku even as Aizen managed to stop part of the attack.

 

“You know what your problem is, Aizen?”  Ichigo enquired evenly as Aizen’s face twisted into a grimace of hate and he forcibly wrenched himself away from Ichigo’s blade, shunpoing backwards to put some distance between them.  “You talk _way_ too much.”

 

Aizen coughed again, one hand drenched in blood as he held it against the injury Ichigo had dealt.  “You fool!  I offered you a place within my ranks.  I offered you the safety of your friends and family, and yet you-”

 

“It would be an unforgiveable insult to every single one of them if I had accepted,” Ichigo interjected steadily, raising his Zanpakutou.  “Besides, I’d slit my own throat before I’d ever bow down to you.”

 

Aizen’s gaze burned.  “I will destroy Soul Society.  You gave them ten years of your life, Kurosaki Ichigo; you gave up any chance of a future you've ever had, gave them everything you had and more.  Would you do so yet again?”

 

Ichigo rotated Muramasa so that the tip pointed to the left.  “We both know the answer to that, Aizen.  Enough talk.  Let’s get on with this.”

 

“Your loyalty to people who will never deserve it will be your downfall, Kurosaki Ichigo!”  Aizen spat out.  “I will destroy you!”

 

Ichigo expected it when Aizen attempted to flee.  The Hogyoku wasn't healing the overlord as quickly as it once had and Aizen would want to recover first.

 

“You’re not going anywhere!”  He snarled, and shot forward.  This time, Aizen just managed to form a sword from the palm of his hand to block Ichigo’s downward strike.  Kyouka Suigetsu had long since disintegrated, taken in by the Hogyoku for more power.

 

“YOU DARE DEFY A GOD, KUROSAKI ICHIGO?!”  Aizen shrieked as they crashed together, metal against metal echoing off the walls of the room.

 

“You’re no god, Aizen!” Ichigo shouted back, ducking under the swipe of his enemy’s blade before attacking again.  “You’re just insane!”

 

Blow after lethal blow they traded, blades screeching together in showers of sparks, evenly matched in every way.

 

Ichigo blocked another strike, only to twist as Aizen whirled past him in a flurry of white.  With an inward curse, Ichigo disappeared in a blur of Shunpo, unsheathing Zangetsu and meeting Aizen halfway just as the traitor appeared in front of Rukia, weapon already plunging down towards her.

 

“Get the hell away from her,” Ichigo snarled, voice quiet with something well beyond rage.  His mind flashed back to a dying Rukia, struck down personally by Aizen.

 

Aizen’s face twisted into a smirk even as he leapt back from the katana Ichigo tried to skewer him with.

 

“Protective as always, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Aizen taunted.  “But your efforts are futile.  I will kill her like I did last time.  I wonder – will it hurt as much?  This one at least isn’t your fi-”

 

Ichigo hurled Muramasa across the room, and Aizen only barely managed to get out of the way.  As it was, the Shinigami was still left with a deep gash carved into his bicep.

 

Aizen didn't even seem to notice as he laughed softly, glancing dismissively at the wakizashi now embedded in the wall behind him.  “Throwing your Zanpakutou, Kurosaki Ichigo?  Hasn't anyone warned you against such a thoughtless feat?”

 

Ichigo rested Zangetsu against one shoulder as he stared at his enemy.  “You never did take much notice in anything beyond yourself, did you?  Especially not me.  I was always beneath you even though I was the only one who could fight you on even footing.”

 

Aizen sneered.  “Do not be so arrogant, _Hybrid_.  I will always stand above you.”

 

Ichigo scoffed.  “Say that when you aren’t kneeling on the ground.  Have you forgotten what my Zanpakutou can do, Aizen?”

 

Aizen only had time to frown before he choked on his own blood once more, a blade thrust clean through his chest from behind.  The man’s head jerked around, eyes wide with fury.  “What-”

 

Ichigo smiled, the expression cold and foreign on his face as he strode forward.  “Nice, Muramasa.”

 

The manifested Zanpakutou standing behind Aizen smiled back, expression just as icy.  “I have been waiting for this for a very long time.”

 

An almost maniacal gleam entered Muramasa’s eyes as he kicked out Aizen’s legs, driving the overlord to his knees.

 

“Scream, Aizen Sousuke!”  Muramasa hissed, twisting the blade in deeper and forcing a strangled sound from Aizen.  “Is that not what you told my wielder?  How does it feel to be on the receiving end?”

 

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, footsteps slowing.  Muramasa had always been more possessive than Shiro or even Zangetsu, latching onto Ichigo ever since Ichigo had opened his soul for the Zanpakutou and given Muramasa a place in his heart.  So sometimes, especially when it came to Aizen, that possessiveness and almost-fear of being rejected and separated, much like he had been with Kouga and despite Ichigo’s best efforts at convincing the Zanpakutou otherwise (though it had gotten much better over the years), tended to appear in the form of a more sadistic side than Muramasa typically showed, never good for their opponents.

 

However, Aizen was just a little too... composed for his current situation despite his injuries.

 

“Muramasa!”  Ichigo barked out, catching the smirk that curled at Aizen’s mouth.  “Let go!  Get over here!”

 

Muramasa flicked a startled glance at him and then disappeared in a flash of purple just in time as white spikes exploded from Aizen’s back, missing Muramasa by mere nanoseconds as Aizen clambered back onto his feet.

 

The wakizashi disappeared from Aizen’s chest, and an instant later, Muramasa reformed beside Ichigo, a grimace on his face.

 

“My apologies, Ichigo,” Muramasa looked ready to throttle someone, preferably Aizen.  “I forgot about the Hogyoku.”

 

                “It’s fine,” Ichigo raised Zangetsu as Muramasa began glowing with his signature reiatsu again.  “I wasn't expecting a sliver of the Hogyoku to still be able to do that much anyway.”

 

                Muramasa inclined his head, still furious but more controlled now as his physical body blurred and became a wakizashi in Ichigo’s hand once more.

 

                “Careless, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Aizen called out, looking highly entertained as the white spikes retreated into his back and the Hogyoku shone in his chest.  The prior injury Ichigo had dealt to the man’s gut didn't look as bad anymore.

 

                The battle was drawing out too long.

 

                Ichigo sighed and sheathed Zangetsu.  Things could never be simple, could they?

 

                He dodged out of the way when Aizen suddenly rushed towards him, and the speed at which he moved would’ve been frightening if Ichigo hadn't been able to match it.  He leapt up and slammed a foot against Aizen’s sternum, right against the still open wound, before flipping backwards and letting his reiatsu flare.

 

“Whisper, Muramasa!”

 

Purple reiatsu exploded from his Zanpakutou, swirling around him as the wakizashi lengthened into a sleek katana, washing over everything in a wave of amethyst light as ominous shadows danced along the walls.

 

Ichigo straightened.

 

Aizen’s lip curled.

 

Both of them shot forward.

 

**XLII.**

 

“That’s impossible!  No one has two Zanpakutou!”

 

“Well, it looks like he does.  The other one’s still strapped to his back.”

 

Byakuya tuned the mutters out, staring hard at the bright-haired figure instead.

 

That was his uncle’s blade.

 

He frowned.  This Kurosaki Ichigo would dare take another’s Zanpakutou, even if the wielder was sealed away?

 

Yet as purple reiatsu pulsed from the sword and crashed explosively into Aizen, it became quite clear that Muramasa worked well with the boy.  There was no tension between them, only an easy companionship that spoke of years of fighting together.  So what had happened?  As far as Byakuya knew, Muramasa was a single blade Zanpakutou, not two, so did that mean that Kurosaki Ichigo wielded two Zanpakutou?  That should not be possible.

 

Then again, time travel technically should not be possible either yet Urahara Kisuke had succeeded, even if it had simultaneously brought Aizen back as well.

 

And Rukia had protected this boy for two weeks and hadn't broken.  She had remained silent for someone she had known for a mere few months.  The boy’s character could not be entirely bad.

 

So he would wait; wait and perhaps find out just who this Human amalgam was before passing judgement.  After all, Kurosaki Ichigo had saved Rukia, despite indirectly being the reason for her capture in the first place.

 

**XLIII.**

 

Metal rang against metal as Ichigo clashed again and again with Aizen.  Neither gave an inch as they fought, mere blurs to anyone else’s eyes.

 

Ichigo gritted his teeth as a particularly harsh blow sent him skidding backwards, but he retaliated in the next heartbeat with a series of amethyst, crescent-shaped slashes.  The best thing about Muramasa’s power was that it could draw on Zangetsu’s abilities and adapt them for its own use.

 

Ichigo scowled harder when Aizen managed to deflect most of the attacks, either dissipating them with his own blade or deflecting them off to the side, resulting in loud explosions all around the room.

 

It was a good thing everyone was locked up in those cages, Ichigo mused sardonically.  And Rukia and Lilynette were far enough behind him not to get caught in any of the detonations.

 

There were only two ways to deactivate the barriers: one, somebody could disable them with whatever password had been encoded into the Kidou walls, or two, attack the inside and outside of the barrier at the exact same time to neutralize them.  One had to time it correctly, and nobody here knew-

 

Wait.  There was a genius in the house.  Several actually, but only one who could read Kidou with the expertise required for any scientist who had dedicated their life to studying that particular art.

 

Still, that didn't mean the man had managed to figure it out just by observing the way the attacks slammed against the Kidou barriers...

 

Oh who was he kidding?  Kisuke had done exactly that in Ichigo’s original timeline, much to Kurotsuchi’s ire.

 

There was no telling with all the smoke swirling around them though, and Ichigo only managed to get one last strike in, carving a bloody gash in Aizen’s shoulder even as the man leapt back and into the air again.

 

His senses tingled, and Ichigo jerked and spun clockwise.  He looked up in time to see Aizen descend on him with terrifying speed, and even as he brought his blade around once more, he knew he wouldn't be able to block the attack completely; he wasn't turning fast enough.

 

But before Aizen could hurtle downwards even halfway, a familiar black-and-silver sword interceded, its wielder flashing into sight several feet above Ichigo.

 

“Bind, Benihime,” Kisuke intoned, and a blood-red net launched itself at Aizen, restricting the Shinigami and toppling him to the ground.  Landing, the shopkeeper twirled his Zanpakutou and stabbed the net with the tip of the blade.  “Fire-Playing, Benihime, Beaded Mesh!”

 

Orbs of fire formed along the outside of the net, exploding one by one like linked land mines in a domino formation, speeding towards Aizen bound under the net. Seconds later, a large, devastating explosion rocked the very foundations of the First Division barracks as a wall of flames rushed up and blew a hole straight through the ceiling.

 

Kisuke straightened, blowing out a breath as he landed beside Ichigo and adjusted his hat.  He glanced back at Ichigo.  “He’s still alive?”

 

Ichigo stared at the smoke churning all around them, and then up at the hole where Aizen had escaped.  “Yes.  _Fuck_.  ...You shouldn't have interfered.”

 

Kisuke tilted his hat in acknowledgement but didn't apologize.  Ichigo didn't ask him to.  Both of them knew he wasn’t sorry.

 

Besides, the downside of having fought Aizen so many times that he knew the overlord’s moves inside-out was the fact that that worked both ways.  Aizen had already known he was weak against aerial assaults when they came in from his right side (he had tightened his defence and trained like hell so that no one could take him by surprise, but that particular blind spot was still a handicap on occasion), and Aizen had used that fraction of a second when Ichigo had lagged to attack.  If Kisuke hadn't intervened, Ichigo would’ve gotten hurt.  Not badly, but hurt.

 

It was why he and Kisuke had made such a good pair in battle in the future.  Kisuke had also known his fighting style forwards and backwards, and Ichigo had sparred with the man enough times to know his.  They had covered each other’s weaknesses and the result had been a flawless defense that even Aizen had been wary of.  This Kisuke didn’t know Ichigo as well, but the shopkeeper hadn’t been lauded as a genius for nothing.  They’d sparred enough over the past few months for the former captain to get a general idea of Ichigo’s skill.

 

A groan drew their attention to the ground.  Miraculously, Aaroniero was still alive.  Even Luppi was dead; Ichigo had all but ripped that Arrancar in half.

 

In three strides, Ichigo was standing beside the Espada, looming over the Kaien-lookalike.

 

Aaroniero froze.

 

“Let me tell you how this is gonna work,” Ichigo informed him calmly, inwardly seething at the fact that Aizen had escaped yet again, though hopefully not far if the man’s injuries were anything to go by.  “You’re going to die within the next ten seconds so I suggest you stop wearing my cousin’s face.  It’s always better to die as yourself.”

 

Kaien’s image shimmered for a moment before melting away, leaving a large, glass cylindrical capsule filled with red liquid and two small, floating Hollow heads.  The body filled out as well, enlarging and stretching the critical injury Ichigo had given him.

 

Ichigo smiled coldly at the Noveno Espada.  “Better.”

 

The upper head cursed him, and one of the Espada's hands scrambled for Nejibana.  “You bastard, I’ll kill-!”

 

Ichigo impaled the Arrancar through the head before it could finish, and the other head screamed, high-pitched and tormented before splitting in half, crimson fluid spilling out over the floor.

 

A flick of his wrist got rid of the excess of liquid staining his katana before he shrunk it back to its sealed form again.

 

And then there was silence.

 

Save for the crackle of a few flames and the distant screeches of Hollows, nobody spoke.

 

Ichigo got the feeling that nobody knew what to say.  He himself couldn't quite look at all the familiar faces just yet so he busied himself with picking up Nejibana.  The spirit itself was long gone but the blade remained.

 

As he straightened, he supposed it wasn't so surprising that Kukaku spoke first.  “Cousin, huh?  Isshin-ji-san told ya then?  In the future?”

 

Ichigo straightened, drew in a fortifying breath, told himself that they were just faces and nothing more, and then turned around.

 

He almost felt like throwing up.

 

Instead, he nailed a strained half-smile on his face as he took a few steps forward.  “Yes.  It’s nice to see you again, Kukaku-san, Ganju-san.”

 

Kukaku eyed him for a long moment before snorting and crossing her arms.  Ganju hovered in the background, looking mildly dumbfounded.

 

“Kukaku _-nee-san_ , brat,” Kukaku corrected.  “We’re family.  And don’t go hightailing off before we have a chance ta celebrate.”

 

Ichigo blinked, completely lost.  Celebrating was the last thing on his mind.  “Celebrate?  Celebrate what?”

 

Kukaku jabbed a finger at him.  “The birth of three new Shibas into the Clan, moron.”

 

“Wait.”

 

They both glanced over to where the Tenth Division captain and lieutenant were standing.

 

“Isshin as in Shiba Isshin?”  Toshirou stared from Ichigo to Kukaku and then back to Ichigo.  “But Shiba-taichou died.”

 

Ichigo waved a hand in the general direction of all the former Gotei 13 members.  “Yeah, well, supposedly, so did a good eleven people in this room.”

 

Toshirou scowled at him, a hint of bewilderment entering his expression.  “Shiba-taichou was assumed dead; killed by a Hollow during a mission in the Human World.  How did he survive?”

 

Ichigo shrugged.  “Someone saved him.”

 

“Who?”  Toshirou looked increasingly impatient.  Rangiku drifted forward, eyes wide as she studied Ichigo.  “Shiba-taichou was my captain, Kurosaki.  I have a right to know.”

 

Ichigo squinted at him.  “Take it easy; I'm not hiding anything from you.  My mother did.  Saved him I mean.”

 

Toshirou very nearly gaped at him.  Ichigo secretly enjoyed it.

 

“Then why did he not come back?”  Toshirou demanded.  “If he was fine-”

 

“Toshirou,” Ichigo ignored the irritated expression on the captain’s face and pointed at himself.  “My _mother_ saved him.  My _Human_ mother.  As cheesy as it sounds, they fell in love, got married, and had me and my two sisters, and that’s breaking several of your laws.”

 

This time, Toshirou did gape at him, or at least he went slack-jawed for a brief second.  Behind him, Rangiku had stars in her eyes.

 

“Shiba-taichou got married and had a darling like you!”  The blonde squealed, bouncing forward.  “That’s wonderful!  A forbidden romance!”

 

Ichigo shot her an unimpressed look.  “My life’s not a soap opera, Rangiku-san.  Please refrain from making such a big deal out of it.”

 

“What kind of person would willingly marry Shiba-taichou?”  Toshirou blurted out a second later, and then snapped his mouth shut upon realizing how rude that came out.

 

Ichigo snorted.  “I wonder about that myself sometimes.”

 

From her cage, Kukaku grinned broadly and gave him a thumbs-up.  “I like ya already, Ichigo.”

 

“Thanks, I think,” Ichigo sighed.  His old man was a real nutjob and he had just gotten confirmation that it wasn't only him who thought so.

 

“Now get us outta here,” Kukaku added as an afterthought.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Ichigo murmured, but his gaze darted over to Rukia first.  The girl was trying to heave herself onto her feet.

 

“Rukia-” Ichigo sighed and shunpoed over to her side, tucking Nejibana in his sash before helping her to her feet.  She’d hit him if he tried to get her to sit down.  “Take it easy, Princess.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Rukia grumbled raggedly.  “I’ll kick you.”

 

Ichigo sighed again and glanced around the room.  Rukia yelped when Ichigo simply picked her up again and flashed over to one of the abandoned chairs scattered on the side.

 

“Sit,” Ichigo instructed firmly.  “You’re in no condition to be moving around.”

 

Rukia shot him the evil eye but settled down without fuss, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.  Ichigo patted her on the shoulder, refraining from hugging her or doing something equally stupid.

 

He turned back and surveyed the captives all staring avidly back at him, and then glanced away again from the probing stares.  God, fighting Aizen was less nerve-wracking than this.

 

                “How do you know Rukia?”

 

                Ichigo slowly dragged his gaze to where Renji was scowling at him.  “We met in Karakura.”

 

                He glanced down at Rukia.  “She took down a Hollow outside my house-”

 

                “-that _you_ finished off,” Rukia cut in, glaring accusingly at him.  “That one and the Shrieker, and while I was panicking about some rogue Shinigami roaming the streets, it was you all along!”

 

                Ichigo ran a hand through his hair guiltily.  “Yeah.  Sorry.  I couldn't tell you yet.”

 

                Rukia harrumphed but didn't say anything else.

 

                “No,” Renji interjected once more.  “I meant how did you meet her the first time around?  Two _weeks_ , Aizen was ranting and raving about why Rukia still had her powers and whether or not she met you.  What the hell did he mean?”

 

                Ichigo frowned.  “The first time around, I started out as just a Human who could see souls.  Pluses, Hollows, Shinigami.  Like this time, Rukia was sent to Karakura, except the Hollow overwhelmed her and grabbed one of my sisters.  Rukia was injured and I wanted to protect my family, so she gave me her powers.”

 

                “That is illegal!”  Soifon barked.

 

                Ichigo scowled at her.  “Good thing it didn't happen this time then.  The last time you all ran around like headless chickens desperately trying to execute her.  Bit extreme against someone who was just trying to save lives.”

 

                Ichigo huffed as he forced himself to subside.  Even after all these years, that still rubbed him the wrong way.

 

                “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

                Ichigo hid a grimace.  Here it was.  “Yeah, Gramps?”

 

                “Watch your tongue!”  Soifon interrupted again, glowering at him.

 

                Ichigo glared right back, temper frayed, uneasy from Aizen’s disappearance, and barely holding his shit together while being in the same room as so many should-be-dead faces.  “Well he’s not _my_ captain-commander so suck it up and deal.  What are you gonna do, kill me for breaking some obscure law on military mannerisms?”

 

                Soifon bristled but before she could open her mouth, Shinji intervened.

 

                “Soifon-taichou, Ichigo just crossed blades with Aizen like he’s been doin’ it since he was born,” Shinji’s eyes narrowed even as his grin widened.  “Ya probably shouldn't piss him off.”

 

                Soifon faltered, hesitant as to what to do upon being reprimanded by not only a former captain but also a supposedly dead man.

 

                Ichigo flicked a grateful look in Shinji’s direction before concentrating on Yamamoto again.  “What is it?”

 

                The old man peered at him through narrow eyes.  “How old are you, young’un?”

 

                Ichigo frowned.  “Twenty-six.  I came back eleven years, so my Human body’s fifteen.”

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Juushirou start.

 

                “And the war lasted for ten years?”  Juushirou sounded troubled.  “Then you would’ve been sixteen when you started fighting?”

 

                Ichigo wasn't quite sure where this was headed.  “Yeah.  What of it?”

 

                “Maa,” Shunsui smiled kindly at him, though there was an odd tinge of melancholic resignation in the slight frown creasing his brow.  “I think what Juu-chan is trying to say is that sixteen is a bit young to be fighting a war.  So is twenty-six for that matter, especially when it comes to a Shinigami war.”

 

                Ichigo stared at the captain who would one day become captain-commander as well as one of his mentors when Ichigo had had to learn how to fight with two swords at the same time.  Shunsui had been like an uncle to him and it had hurt to lose the man.  Hell, it had hurt everyone.  Shunsui had made an excellent captain-commander, not to mention he had had his fair share of friends who’d mourned his passing.  It had been a serious blow to morale, especially when they had just lost Juushirou half a year earlier.

 

                “I'm not that young,” Ichigo said when the silence started to stretch.  “Twenty-six is just a number.  So is sixteen.  The only thing that matters is what you can cram in those years.”

 

                Ichigo looked away when Shunsui’s gaze turned thoughtful.  For all his laziness, the Eighth Division captain had always been one of the most perceptive.

 

                 “And why did you return to the past?”  Yamamoto enquired.

 

                Ichigo looked at him incredulously.  “Uh, Gramps, you’re all locked up in cages, courtesy of the resident lunatic with delusions of godhood.  If I hadn't come back, everything would’ve panned out exactly like before.

 

“See that?”  He pointed out the far window.  The skies were cloudy but pieces of blue peaked out from behind, and while the Hollows still ran wild, most of Seireitei was still very much intact.

 

                “Imagine a wasteland in its place,” He said bluntly.  “Literally.  That’s what Aizen reduced Soul Society to.  Rukongai was _gone_.  The few handfuls of survivors were moved into Seireitei until Aizen torched half the city anyway.  The barracks that survived were turned into a hospital and a shelter.  We had to move our base of operations to Hueco Mundo.  We fought there, we ate there, we _lived_ there, and trust me, that’s not something you’d want, especially when all the food eventually started tasting like sand and the nights were forty below outside and all you had to keep yourself warm with was a tent and a few blankets.  Some of the lower-ranked Shinigami froze to death at night.  Aizen didn't even need to waste time killing them.”

 

                By the time he had finished, Ichigo’s voice was harsh and most of his audience had turned pale.

 

                He glanced down when Rukia suddenly reached out, one of her hands coming to rest against his.  They were balled into white-knuckled fists.  Ichigo gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax.

 

                With a sharp exhale, he quirked a tiny, hopefully reassuring smile in Rukia’s direction before his gaze narrowed and his head snapped to the side.  He unsheathed Muramasa just as a Tel popped into existence on his right, Cero already forming in its mouth.  Ichigo cleaved the thing in half before it could finish, its head and body dissipating in an instant.

 

                Three more appeared, but before Ichigo could take care of them, a blur of white hurtled in through the window and destroyed them with three precise blows.

 

                “I thought you were doing crowd control!”  Ichigo said as Shiro sonidoed to his side, the sealed form of Zangetsu in his hand.

 

                “There’s too many!”  Shiro snapped back.  “It’s a fuckin’ Hollow pageant out there!  Jeez, Shinigami sure fail big time at counterin’ invasions, don’t they?”

 

                Shiro glanced over his shoulder at the goggling eyes before focusing on Shunsui.  “Yo, boss-man, your Shinigami need retrainin’ in a big way.  I’d say just overhaul all the losers at the bottom of the ladder ’cause they seriously don’t have a fuckin’ clue in hell what they’re doin’ out there.  I keep tellin’ ’em ta cut the Tels’ heads off but they just continue aimin’ at the limbs, even when the things clearly reattach themselves!  How the fuck did they even pass the entrance exam?  I thought havin’ a brain was a requirement for gettin’ inta the Academy!”

 

                Shinji was laughing.  So were the other Visored.  Yoruichi was grinning with visible entertainment.  Kisuke was smirking.  Kukaku cackled.  The expressions on the captains ranged from bemused to indignant.

 

                Ichigo was glad someone was getting a good laugh out of this because all he could do was facepalm and then slap Shiro upside the head.

 

                “Ow!  The fuck was that for?”

 

                “Shut up!”  Ichigo hissed.  “Shun- Kyouraku-san isn’t- you know, yet.  And sometimes, I wonder if _you_ have a brain!”

 

                “You're insultin’ yourself, Aibou,” Shiro jeered.  “I'm _your_ Hollow.  And I can call the drunk ‘boss-man’ if I wanna!”

 

                They spun at the same time, Ichigo to the left and Shiro to the right just as six more Tels teleported into the room.  Ichigo skewered three in a whirl of black while Shiro smashed their heads open and crushed their throats in a flurry of white.

 

                “Where the fuck’s Aizen?”  Shiro shouted as more Tels popped in and were promptly cut down half a second later.

 

                “Escaped,” Ichigo said bleakly.

 

                “What?!”

 

                “You heard me,” Ichigo growled, reversing his grip on Muramasa and killing two more Tels as the Hollows tried to attack him from his blind spot. Behind both of them, Kisuke was keeping up fairly well; it seemed that the shopkeeper was only going to be taken off guard once by these things and had adjusted accordingly to battle them more efficiently.

 

                “We goin’ after him?”

 

                Ichigo shot Shiro a deadpan look.  Duh.

 

Sweeping the now-empty room, he cocked an eyebrow at his Hollow who clicked his tongue but leapt at Ichigo.

 

                “Ruin my fun, why don’t ya?  I was just gettin’ warmed up,” The Hollow groused, disappearing into thin air the moment his hand touched Ichigo’s shoulder.

 

                “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

                Ugh, what was it with people calling him by his full name all the time?

 

                “Yeah, Byakuya?”  Ichigo turned in the Sixth Division captain’s direction.  It had taken him four years to wear the man down and make him give up on Ichigo ever referring to him by his surname and title.  He wasn't about to stop now.

 

                Nostalgia hit him when he laid eyes on Byakuya though.  They hadn't gotten along at first, had been out-and-out enemies, but they had grown to respect each other, and the war had only cemented that until they had become friends.

 

                At the moment though, Byakuya was frowning sternly at him though the Clan Head made no move to correct Ichigo’s form of address.  Instead, he enquired, voice chilled, “The wakizashi you wield – I am certain it belongs to Kuchiki Kouga-”

 

                _Aw, not this again_ , Ichigo groaned inwardly as Muramasa’s reiatsu flared in irritation.

 

                “I am Kurosaki Ichigo’s Zanpakutou!”  Even Murmasa’s hair looked windswept as he landed beside Ichigo, glaring darkly at a subtly startled Byakuya.  “Your uncle threw me away, Kuchiki Byakuya!  He refused to trust me and I could no longer hear his voice.  I gave him all that I could give of myself and he cast me away!  I do _not_ belong to a man like that.”

 

                Muramasa tossed one last contemptuous sneer in Byakuya’s direction before reforming at Ichigo’s waist in his sword form.

 

                Ichigo cleared his throat.  “Sorry ’bout that.  He’s not actually angry at you; he just doesn't like it when people talk about Kuchiki Kouga, especially when in context with him.  They have... bad history together, as I'm sure you already know.  Muramasa’s my partner now.”

 

                Byakuya stared unblinkingly at him for a long minute before inclining his head, and Ichigo was taken aback to find a glimmer of respect in the man’s eyes.

 

                “He heard your voice when you called him?”  Byakuya enquired in a monotone, but Ichigo knew him well enough to hear the trace of proprietary concern towards a Zanpakutou that had once been in the care of a Kuchiki.

 

                “Yeah,” Ichigo nodded.  “We work well together.”

 

                Byakuya said nothing more, and Ichigo relaxed.  Maybe they would actually get along this time around without all the death fights.  When he had time though, he’d have to sit down with the Clan Head and figure out what Byakuya wanted to do about Kuchiki Kouga.  The man had been sealed away, and while Muramasa would no longer attempt to free him, someone would eventually stumble on the disgraced Kuchiki.  Better to prevent that from happening before anything actually happened.

 

                “Oi, Ichigo,” Shinji spoke up next, leaning against the barrier.  “Ya remember what we talked about yesterday?”

 

                Ichigo scowled at him.  “Yeah, we agreed to disagree.  Here’s me disagreeing.”

 

                He made to turn away (for God’s sakes, _why_ was he still here?), only for the thump of Shinji’s fist against the barrier to make him pause.

 

                “ _Ichigo_ ,” It was the sternest Ichigo had ever heard the Visored leader.  “Ya ain’t handlin’ him alone.”

 

                “And you think you stand a chance?”  Ichigo retorted.  “Eleven years in the future, you threw everything you had against Aizen, gambled everything, and you _lost_.  Right now, you’d be killed before you could say Bankai, and I mean that literally!”

 

                He glared at the blond.  “This is my job.  I came back here to kill him.  Stop trying to prevent me from doing my job.”

 

“Ya don’t have ta-”

 

“Yes I do!”  Ichigo snarled, temper finally snapping.  “What else am I good for?!”

 

Silence echoed like a gong.  Ichigo closed his eyes and turned around.  “I didn't mean-”

 

He was already jumping back as a katana sliced into his abdomen, tearing a jagged path through his Shihakushou and grazing his skin before he managed to get away, Shiro howling with outrage inside his head.

 

“Ichigo!”

Rukia half-staggered to her feet, Kisuke had stepped up beside Ichigo, Benihime at the ready, and Shinji was glaring daggers at both the barrier and the figure that was currently stepping out of the last plumes of smoke that hadn't quite cleared yet.

 

“TOUSEN!”  Komamura roared.  “How could you?  Kurosaki Ichigo is-”

 

“-Aizen-taichou’s enemy,” Tousen stated, Zanpakutou extended.  “Aizen-taichou follows the path of least bloodshed, and so I will follow him.  Anyone who stands in the way must be removed.”

 

Ichigo’s mouth twisted as he drew Muramasa and Zangetsu, both swords weighing comfortably in his hands.  He ignored the slight sting in his side.  Shiro was already working on it.

 

“Shuuhei, Komamura-san, can I _please_ take him down?”  He spat out bitterly, keeping one eye on the Justice-preacher.  He hated this man just as much as he hated Aizen.  Once upon a time, Shunsui had been the one to kill him after forbidding Ichigo from doing the same.

 

For all that he had gone through a war, Ichigo had never killed in cold blood before; killed, yes, but never while the enemy had been helpless.  Tousen had been captured, weaponless, and at their mercy, and Ichigo hadn't exactly been in his right mind at the time, having just lost both his sisters to Aizen – indirectly – and Tousen – directly.  Killing in cold blood would've been exactly what Ichigo would've done if Shunsui hadn't forcibly stopped him before hauling Tousen off for interrogation.

 

At that point, nobody was willing to run the risk of keeping prisoners so almost anyone they had captured had had to go after all relevant and irrelevant information had been dragged from them.

 

Tousen had been no different; not even Komamura or Shuuhei had had the balls to ask for mercy on the traitor’s behalf, and Ichigo never saw Tousen ever again after that, but there had been concrete rumours of the traitor meeting his end at Shunsui’s hands in the privacy of one of the First Division prison cells.

 

However, at the moment, Shuuhei looked like he desperately wanted to throw himself into the battle while Komamura had bowed his head.  Before either could give him a proper answer, Tousen surged forward, katana raised.

 

Ichigo scoffed and knocked the first blow aside with his wakizashi before sweeping out with his katana.  Tousen didn't stand a flying fuck of a chance.  The first blow had been pure luck.  Ichigo had been distracted.

 

He weaved to the side as the former captain thrust his sword forward, dodging and blocking each strike with ease.  Metal screeched as Ichigo deflected another blow, forcing Tousen’s blade down and to the side with Muramasa before Zangetsu snaked forward with the speed of a striking cobra and left a brutal laceration in the former captain’s left side.

 

Tousen must have realized that he was hopelessly outmatched because he fell back and jumped into the air, moving his Zanpakutou in a semi-circle.

 

Ichigo’s eyes widened.  Was the man crazy?

 

Without a word, he whirled and grabbed Rukia, bundling her into the corner along with Lilynette, and then turning to shove Kisuke out of the way before spinning back to the fight.

 

“Suzumushi Second Movement: Crimson Flying Locusts!”

 

Ichigo offered up a silent apology to Yamamoto for the soon-to-be destroyed wall of the First Division just as hundreds of swords began raining down on him.

 

Ichigo relaxed and threw himself into the battle.

 

This was what he did best.  Fighting.  When it was intuition combined with skill, there were very few who could truly best him, and those who did certainly didn't for long.

 

Sword after sword, Ichigo deflected to the side and into the empty courtyard below, twisting around the barrage of blades and redirecting them all, some with his wakizashi, others with his katana, and still others with a combination of both as he danced amongst the volley of deadly metal.  His arms were a blur as he reacted purely out of instinct, never slowing down as he held back Tousen’s assault.

 

And when the onslaught finally ended, Ichigo took a deep breath and looked around.  The far wall had been demolished but-

 

There wasn't so much as a scratch mark on the wooden floor behind him.

 

Ichigo grinned humourlessly, eyes bright with adrenaline, before turning back to the confounded Tousen.  “You don’t honestly think you can win against me, do you?”

 

And before the former captain could sputter out a response, Ichigo shunpoed forward and cracked the hilt of his sword against the man’s temple once more.  This time, he kicked the Zanpakutou away before hauling Tousen across the room and dropping him in a heap at the foot of Shuuhei and Komamura’s cage, making sure to bind him with Kidou as well while he was at it.

 

“All yours,” Ichigo informed them, only not even breathless as he sheathed his swords once more.  He had to remind himself – over and over again – that this wasn't the Tousen that had completely lost himself to Aizen’s madness, not yet, and that there might still be a chance for him.  His sisters’ deaths had long since become a permanent but lessened ache in his chest, and unlike even just a year ago, he could stay his hand when it came to confronting his sisters’ would-be murderer.  “But if he comes after me again, I reserve the right to kill him.”

 

Komamura bowed low.  “I thank you, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

Shuuhei nodded shakily, features pained but resolute.

 

Ichigo rubbed his neck in embarrassment.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Ichigo!”

 

Ichigo froze, and then slowly turned to Kenpachi who was grinning dementedly at him.  “Uh, yeah?”

 

“When I get outta here, let’s fight!”

 

Ichigo blanched.  “No thanks, I'm good.”

 

The last thing he needed was a fight against the craziest captain in the Gotei 13 (Kurotsuchi didn't count; the man was just downright creepy).

 

“And I'm done!”  Kisuke chirped from across the room where he was standing next to the cage that Yoruichi and Soifon were in, studying the barrier intently.  “Kidou walls encrypted with a password – how quaint.  And Aizen never did have much imagination; I’d say... ‘397537’ as the password – his rather lesser-known Academy registration number.  Unfortunately for him, I’ve been through all his files.”

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes.  Damn Kisuke.  The shopkeeper had probably used the time Ichigo had been fighting to crack the method behind disabling the cages, preventing Ichigo from going after Aizen alone while he still could.

 

“Ichigo...”

 

Ichigo scowled at the warning note in Shinji’s voice, clearly advising him _not_ to run off before they’d been freed.  As if he’d do that.

 

Though it might’ve occurred to him.

 

“Gramps,” He said instead, striding back to the center of the room.  Yamamoto peered at him impassively.  Ichigo crossed his arms and squared his shoulders.  “So, in case it hasn’t been cleared up yet, Aizen was responsible for the Hollowfication of eight Shinigami a century ago, and then framed Kisuke and Tessai-san for it.  You and Central 46 ordered the execution of four captains and four lieutenants, the imprisonment of the Kidou Corps captain, and the exile of another captain.”

 

He paused.  His gaze remained steely.  “I want them fully pardoned.  They can come and go as they please, and if they choose to stay away, they're free to do that too.  But a full pardon for each of them is only fair.  The very least you can do.”

 

Tension skyrocketed in the room.  All the Visored looked almost blatantly surprised.

 

“And if I refuse, you will keep us locked up, young’un?”  Yamamoto rumbled, a dangerous, menacing edge entering his voice.

 

Out of the corner of Ichigo’s eye, he saw the Visored bristle on his behalf.

 

“Of course not,” Ichigo objected, waving the seals in the air.  “I’ll free you, all of you.  But I'm going to free them first so they’ll have time to disappear before you can hunt them down.  And while we’re on the subject of hunting, the Arrancar-”

 

He jerked his head at the former Espada who had all been phenomenally silent thus far.  Or at least Grimmjow and Lilynette had been.  The other three were relatively quiet people in general.

 

“They get to leave.  They haven’t done anything, so just let them head back to Hueco Mundo without trying to kill them.

 

“And I think it goes without saying,” He tacked on, figuring he might as well be thorough about it.  “That my father will not be arrested or interrogated or imprisoned or executed or anything else you people can think of.  And really, laying a finger on my sisters is plain suicide, so just don’t try it.”

 

He stopped again, tilting his head in consideration.  He let his expression cool.  “Though I suppose it’s only fair to warn you – if you do try to hunt any of them down, Visored or Arrancar or Kisuke and Tessai-san or my family, you and I are going to have a difference of opinion, and all of us are going to have problems getting along.”

 

Ichigo finished with a bland smile.  “I’d like to get along with everyone, Gramps.  Trust me; it’s less hassle in the future.”

 

Another long silence ensued.  Yamamoto stared holes in him, age-old gaze challenging and pushing him to back down.  Ichigo didn't look away, staring back calmly.  He had faced far more frightening things than Yamamoto Genryuusai.

 

Perhaps he saw Ichigo’s resolve or just sheer bullheadedness but the old man’s eyes closed after a drawn-out two minutes of solid silence and some of the pressure in the room seeped away.

 

“Very well,” Yamamoto said at long last, staff thumping against the ground.  “Kurosaki Ichigo, I will grant your request as the facts are founded to be true.  All six former captains and four former lieutenants will be granted a full pardon, and all five Arrancar will be granted safe passage out of Soul Society, provided that they do not attack anyone here.  Your family will also be left alone.”

 

Ichigo released a soundless sigh of relief and dipped his head in thanks.  He had a nagging suspicion that Yamamoto hadn't just ‘granted his request’ because everyone – mostly everyone; his father _had_ broken the law, even if it was a stupid one – was actually innocent.  The old man not wanting a time-travelling powerhouse against them probably came under consideration as well.  Still, Ichigo would take what he could get.

 

He stilled when Kisuke brushed past him with a murmured thank-you, grey eyes warmer than Ichigo had ever seen them since he had returned to the past.

 

Ichigo smiled dryly to himself as he headed for the former Espada first.  As if there had ever been any doubt of him not speaking up for them.  He’d promised after all.

 

Of course, he’d also promised not to endanger any of his past friends and family members and look where he was now.  He had at least a handful of people who couldn't seem to understand the fact that they _just weren’t_ _strong_ _enough_ to fight Aizen at the moment.  How was he supposed to keep them safe if they insisted on throwing themselves headfirst into a life-or-death battle against the crazy overlord?

 

And Ichigo thought he was supposed to be the reckless one.

 

It looked like he’d just have to find a way to sneak after Aizen when no one was looking, or at least put up barriers of his own if and when they faced the former captain.

 

Ichigo had come back with one purpose alone, and he’d be damned if he failed.

 

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